What the Heart Hides
by Valairy Scot
Summary: Jabiim and ObiWan's death there and how it affects Siri Tachi. Mixing with nongraphic torture in the first half, story evolves into a love story with comedy overtones.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**:

_Jabiim_. It was just one battlefield among many in the conflict that would become known as the Clone Wars. As on any battlefield, many died. A place of brutality, violent death and strangely, mercy, in the form of aid and comfort to one's enemy for it was one thing to destroy in the heat of battle. It was quite another to watch the wounded die when an enemy could reach out a hand and save the injured. Imprisonment was better than slaughter, when the option existed. _No unnecessary deaths_ were how Jedi waged war; it was how they conducted war and how they expected their troops to do.

_Jabiim._ It was just one of many battles that the famed Jedi team of Kenobi-Skywalker were involved in, and it was nearly their last. In its aftermath, lives were forever altered.

_Jabiim_. It was a planet and a battle mired in muck and mud; the only thing certain rain and death. Ground was gained and ground was lost. The currency of real estate was blood. Lives were lost. The reason for fighting was lost. Hope for victory was lost.

He who endured, would win, but victory would be hollow since so few would still be standing.

Ebb and flow, victory and retreat, the front was always moving, never static. During one rapid retreat, a disabled Republic AT-AT had been abandoned. It was an ungainly troop carrier, well armed, with tall jointed legs giving the crew a high vantage point. The legs were its weakness: disable one and the entire thing crashed down. Should it topple forward, the forward crew compartment nearly always snapped upwards, sparking at its connection with the boxy compartment behind, resulting in a fireball of exploding energy and ammunition.

The charges meant to destroy it and keep it out of enemy hands had misfired. The opposition forces had repaired it and were now using it against the Republic forces. Retaliation was swift and merciless; the AT-AT was heavily targeted. With a loud _thunk_ its support legs buckled and the troop compartment collapsed into the ever-present mud. The AT-AT burst into flames as troops scrambled to escape the fiery hell. In moments the flames would reach the ammunition and those still inside would be trapped.

_Nobody deserves to die_ _trapped in a blazing inferno, neither friend nor foe_, Obi-Wan Kenobi thought, and leaped to his feet. It would be an agonizing death: lungs struggling for air and breathing only superheated fumes, lungs melting under the onslaught. Skin blistering and blackening, hair aflame, flames literally consuming one from outside as well as inside.

"We've got to pull them out of there," he roared, and led the charge to save those they were trying to destroy just minutes before. The Jedi grabbed his comlink to contact his padawan for assistance as he dashed forward, re-attaching his lightsaber to his belt with the other hand, ARC Trooper Alpha as always at his side. Obi-Wan Kenobi ran with purpose and determination; he ran into destruction as the AT-AT exploded. Searing heat exploded outwards, as the shock wave of the blast flattened everything with its range and molten fragments rained from the sky. Within a range of a hundred meters, nothing living was left.

His padawan, Anakin Skywalker, could only gape from the ground where the shock wave had thrown him, stunned, as his comlink conversation with his master was suddenly cut off and the awful reality sunk in.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead.

**Chapter 1. Echoes of Silence**

Silence. The silence hung in the air, a grim reminder of happier days long past. This silence was not the peace that usually enveloped the Jedi Temple; this was the silence of absences, of emptiness, of a time of war.

Silence, so much silence enveloped the Temple these days, other than in the crèche and class rooms of the younglings. War had all but emptied the Temple of masters, knights and older padawans, for war had not yet been left to mere machinery. War was waged by sentient beings; war demanded beating hearts and weary souls. If war was fueled by greed, aggression and envy, it fed on death, decay and despair.

The wide halls echoed with the occasional footstep of a Jedi – home on leave or home to heal. The soft babble of the fountains that were usually a comfort in the periphery of one's hearing was a roar in the eardrums, its pulse matching the beating of blood within one's heart.

The hangar, too, was silent now; the mechanics back at their task of maintaining and repairing the Temple's fleet of ships. Now alone in the silence, Jedi Knight Siri Tachi stood watching what could no longer be seen. The ship had left moments before; even now it was in orbit, soon to leave Coruscant behind. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker's leave was over; they had returned to war.

To Jabiim.

The reunion between old friends had been far too short. Bittersweet. Siri had returned to the Temple before Obi-Wan and Anakin left; their leaves overlapping. It had been the first time in months Siri had seen the two Jedi. War had left its mark on them both, for they were in the front lines constantly, pulling off impossible stunt after impossible stunt. War had made them heroes in a galaxy desperate for them.

Of the two, Anakin Skywalker was "the" hero and the face of the Republic. He had been dubbed the Hero of Naboo at nine, as Holonet reporters constantly reminded its viewers. His youth and good looks had made him the poster boy of the war – much to his master's consternation and amusement. War did not need to be prettified, in Obi-Wan Kenobi's view. It did make, however, for a lot of teasing in a world where sometimes one forgot the sound of laughter in the screams of the dead and dying.

Those who appreciated dignity and strength rather than youth and good looks – the dependable versus the flashy – found their hero in the older man, the "negotiator" forced to fight, though his mature good looks were hard to deny. The gray that spotted his temples lent him a maturity that belied the youthful glint in his eyes while the slight slump of his shoulders bespoke a man burdened by duty and responsibilities.

A young man and an older man, staunch defenders of the Republic - good guys - Jedi. They were the best of the best, trusted by their Order and trusted by the Chancellor. Larger than life.

They were long gone, but Siri still saw them – him - in her mind's eye. Not that same man, but that man as he had been not so many years ago: the young man with a straight back, smiling eyes and a braid below his shoulder marking his padawan status, a smooth and beardless face only marred by frowns of concentration when not broken by grins - the Obi-Wan of memory, from a time long past. It had been a time when the future stretched before them with infinite promise, before loss and duty had marked them both.

Siri and Obi-Wan had had one day to catch up on events, just one after months of separation, just one for friends of many years. Just now, the two had departed, back to war, back to battle, destination Jabiim.

It was not usual for Siri to feel Obi-Wan's absence so keenly. They had been friends for years; had known each other even longer. She knew him almost better than he knew himself, and she knew it was only deep immersion in and faith in the Force that allowed him to keep his serenity in face of war. He faced battle with the same courage and unwavering faith that he faced life, but more than a year of war had worn at him. His spirit was discouraged, his resolve tested, his soul weary of the never-ending destruction and pain that was an inevitable result of war. What the man occasionally struggled with, the Jedi accepted without complaint.

His very struggle was what had allowed Obi-Wan to retain his humanity in a time of inhumanity, for Obi-Wan refused to be hardened by war, to be numb minus pain, to be a killer without conscience in the service of a principle that demanded lives in sacrifice: too often, innocent civilians. For the most part, the enemy forces were armies of droids, non-sentient and their termination more of a mechanical disabling than taking of life.

Leave had done the Jedi good: the sparkle in his eyes was unforced, the mirth of his soul unrestrained and his wry humor evident. His padawan seemed more at ease, too, his brooding and silences broken by smiles and good humor.

Siri had seen them off. Her hand had dropped on Obi-Wan's arm as he turned to leave: something told her to hold onto him. The gesture had surprised Obi-Wan; he had looked at her with something of a question in his eyes.

"Be safe," she urged.

Obi-Wan's eyes had crinkled at her. "If the Force wills it," he said, his voice, as always, gentle and with a hint of humor. He glanced at his padawan, and added with a wink, "assuming Anakin continues to rescue me from each situation he drags me into, I'll be fine."

"Now, Master, you know you get yourself into those situations on your own."

A snort greeted that obvious fallacy. "At whose urging? Usually, following in your footsteps when you throw tactics to the wind and rush off on same damn-fool idealistic crusade; calling on the Force as I go."

"You mean complaining to the Force, don't you?" Even Siri hid a smile at that jibe.

A masterly glare, spoiled by a twinkle, tried to quell the padawan. "No, asking for the wisdom to not follow you. I really should know better by now. I never needed so much rescuing when I worked alone or when you were young and actually followed my lead."

If the two started bickering and teasing each other, they'd never leave. Obi-Wan might be a member of the Jedi Council, his appointment fairly recent and still a source of bemusement to the Jedi himself, but no mere Council member could quell Siri Tachi.

"Watch his back, okay, Anakin?" At the young man's nod and easy grin, Siri added with emphasis, "if I have to lose you, it better be after I haven't seen you in a long while, not while the memory of you is fresh."

"I'll be fine. I have Anakin with me," he reassured her. "It's not like you to worry. Are you having one of my 'bad feelings'?"

He had then patted her hand, the one still lying on his arm. It was an unusual gesture for him, for Obi-Wan rarely touched her. Never big on physical gestures, he had all but avoided touching her since the day long before as padawans they had stepped away from love and firmly onto the Jedi path.

"You big gundark – no. It's only – we haven't seen each other in so long, and now I'm going to miss you all over again. I haven't seen Garen or Reeft in ages, either. We knew life as a Jedi would pull us in different directions, but none of us knew we would be pulled into a war that could separate us forever. Just be careful."

With a sideways look at Anakin that indicated he fully knew he would be mercilessly teased later, Obi-Wan leaned over and pressed a kiss onto Siri's forehead before turning to board the ship, a smile still in his eyes. Anakin stared at Siri, then at Obi-Wan, and with a shrug he followed his master up the ramp.

Resisting the urge to brush fingers over the kiss that lingered in the memory of flesh, Siri still stood, long after the shuttle was gone.

Aboard the ship, Anakin plopped down and favored his master with a knowing grin.

"Yes, Anakin?" It was Obi-Wan's long-suffering quizzical gaze.

"Watch your back, Knight Tachi said. Then you kissed her."

"I did not…," Obi-Wan folded his arms and at Anakin's disapproving glare, sighed. "It wasn't that kind of kiss, Anakin. Don't try to make something out of it that was not there. I've known Siri many more years than I've known you. That was a far cry from a, ah, romantic kiss."

It certainly had not been "romantic," meaning passionate as Anakin defined it, but it had been incredibly gentle. Knight Tachi hadn't visibly reacted, which meant something in itself – normally, she would have lobbed a sharp tongued barb at his master, not stood quietly with soft eyes and parted lips. While Obi-Wan looked perfectly serene, Anakin knew him well enough to know that inside he was squirming just a little bit. Anakin scratched his head, deciding how to irk Obi-Wan the most.

"For someone as unimaginative and stodgy as you, it might have been."

"Stodgy? Half the dashing team that graces the Holonet almost every night? Poster boy's companion and sidekick?"

Obi-Wan sure could play the wide-eyed innocent.

"Who's paying attention to their publicity now?" The mocking tone was deliberate. Obi-Wan's teasing on the subject made Anakin just a bit uncomfortable, for it hit too close to home. He liked the attention and the praise; knew as a Jedi he shouldn't care about such things.

"Your publicity, Padawan. Anything to do with you I pay close attention to, as your master. I will continue to do so until the day you are knighted – and probably beyond."

"Someday I can tell you to quit watching my every move; that I'm your equal."

"Oh, no, never my equal," Obi-Wan returned in all seriousness. "You shall far surpass me; at times, you already do. You shall be an extraordinary Jedi once you have reached knighthood and I shall be proud to know that I am the one who guided you on your first steps to knowledge of the Force."

If his words were meant to deflect his padawan's teasing, it worked, though that was not the intent.

"Pride, my master?"

"Pride, my padawan." Obi-Wan reached over and fingered Anakin's braid. "I shall, of course, release that emotion shortly after experiencing it. But I will feel it; I already do."

Anakin flushed and grinned at his master. He cherished these all too few moments when Obi-Wan showed the man inside the Jedi, the proud almost-father. Obi-Wan too often adopted the role of master and teacher; he had had to seek outside the Order for the parental figure he yearned for and had found: Chancellor Palpatine. Only with the Chancellor was he free to be both man and Jedi, unconstrained by roles and expectations, free to be who he was. As with Padme. His wife, too, accepted who he was as well as who he was expected to be.

"The Chosen One;" he might be, but with those two, he was chosen to be friend and confidante, with Padme, also lover and husband.

To them he was Anakin Skywalker.

To the Jedi he was "padawan," and "Chosen One," seen in the context of his role and rank within the Order. Even to his master, he, too often feared: his fears and joys dismissed and expected to keep private, not on public display.

He feared that Obi-Wan rarely saw _him, _only expectations; only the Jedi everyone thought he should and could be; the one he knew he never would be.

That night on Tatooine had proven that.

In the Temple, Siri finally turned and walked slowly away from the hanger; the swishing of her robes the loudest sound there, next to the blood pounding in her head. Obi-Wan had kissed her, and no kiss on the lips, no passionate declarations of love, could have been so tender or had such an effect on her. The kiss _was_ Obi-Wan: warm, gentle, and compassionate as the man himself, the man still beneath the Jedi, too long hidden behind duty and responsibilities.

In its own way, it was more romantic than the ones they had shared years ago as teenagers for this arose from no youthful passion of awakening desire; it was a gift from the heart and the touch of a gentle man – intimate because for the moment it had seemed only the two of them existed.

Even in those days, flush in the first knowledge of young love, teetering between life as lovers or life as Jedi, Obi-Wan had never been much of a romantic, big gesture guy. Deeply passionate he was, but his feelings ran too deep for outward expression and were too long buried by training and necessity. They had both expected to die, that time in the doomed ship, and in the recognition of there being no more tomorrows, they had let go of restraint and shields and admitted what they had denied even to themselves for so long.

They had meant to live their final moments together, to die together, content to lie in each other's arms; lips occasionally brushing in a gentle caress, wanting, needing, denying their wish to explore their feelings when so little time remained to them. It was enough to know they would die holding each other, knowing full well that their masters would find them in whatever broken pieces they might then be…together, but having died as Jedi.

Because they loved each other and had finally admitted it, there was an ease between them that came only then; the way that Obi-Wan cradled her head between gentle hands as their lips met, the way she wrapped her arms so tightly around him that they seemed to merge though they remained separate. But they had not died, and they knew that to be Jedi was to not act on their feelings, deny them if possible, but hide them, they could not. Love without possession, love not pursued – it was the only way to stay true to themselves and to their chosen life paths.

Somehow their masters had known anyway of the feelings they were just discovering and learning how to handle; had known that ultimately the only lasting happiness the two padawans would find would be in parting. Neither could have lived happily having left the Order; living without each other was almost as difficult. But both were meant to be Jedi – they knew it, their masters knew it, and Yoda knew it.

Siri's master, Adi Gallia, was a quiet and serene woman, cool and detached, but she had given her padawan her understanding and quiet counsel to help her through it. Obi-Wan's master, despite his deep connection to the Living Force, had handled it far less effectively. He had immediately enlisted Yoda's aid to speak to the young man, and the two of them had counseled Obi-Wan to end the affair before it had begun, after it had already ended. Neither Siri nor Obi-Wan had yet admitted the truth of its ending, despite their mutual knowledge that what had never been could never be.

Obi-Wan had needed understanding and guidance; he had received a lecture, gently delivered though it had been. Qui-Gon was a master when he should have been a friend, a teacher when he should have been the wise paternal figure that Obi-Wan had needed at the time. The time for that had not yet come: the heart needed tending before the mind. Because Qui-Gon Jinn had not been gentle with his padawan's emotions, intervening when he should have listened and speaking harsh truths when he should have counseled, Obi-Wan learned to hide his pain and grief in silence and quiet obedience.

Saying "goodbye" to what might have been and could never be had been difficult, more so when Siri saw in Obi-Wan's eyes his deep misery and loneliness. She, at least, had her master to guide her through the pain as she grieved for what could never be, not isolated in despair as was Obi-Wan with his master's emotional withdrawal after his initial intervention. Obi-Wan had been pale, his face drawn and lined, his eyes old and broken, his heart locked in silence and pain, when they gave up any possible future together.

They were Jedi, and now each knew the sacrifice the life demanded of them. They had paid the price.

Their parting had been difficult, hearts and minds brimming with unspoken emotion as they parted ways with a touch of fingers and eyes that held only pain. That was the last time Siri, or anyone really, saw the real Obi-Wan's pain, for he learned how to hide it inside himself.

When, years later, he had come back to the Temple a knight, Qui-Gon having fallen in battle on Naboo, it had been hard to see his inner anguish. Obi-Wan had mastered the Jedi façade of perfect calm by releasing his emotions into the Force.

But not long before, for just one moment there in the hangar, the façade had cracked, the gesture speaking as the man would not. Inside Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi there still existed that open-hearted, giving young man; for once, he had allowed himself free expression of what he too often kept tucked within.


	2. Casualties of War

(Author's note: for those who wonder, yes, there is a strong element of Siriwan in this story for that was the original inspiration, but there's also a lot of Obi-Ani , too. I don't even know if Obi-Wan and Siri will "get together" or not at this point as I have not written the ending yet.)

* * *

Debris continued to rain from the sky: sizzling as the ever-present rain boiled and steamed from contact with molten metal arrowing into the mud and digging deep, sometimes burying itself in the bodies of the dead and wounded.

Anakin Skywalker lay where he had been thrown, arms cushioning his head and eardrums from the explosion, his hand still clutching the open comlink. Only static

came from it. Hearing returned as did conscious thought.

Screams and guttural cries forced themselves into his consciousness, as did shouted orders from nearby, the slish-thud of troops fighting for traction in the sloppy mud. Someone dropped to his knees, laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder, shook him.

"You okay, Skywalker? C'mon, there's injured to rescue."

Injured, dead – Obi-Wan was somewhere out there!

"Master?" he screamed into the comlink, and registered the static of a dead link. That didn't mean – it meant nothing – comlinks sometimes went dead, it didn't mean -

"Obi-Wan!" he yelled, heart pounding, clenching his hands into fists. "Master?"

He pushed himself to his feet, face intent as he reached out through the bond for his master's presence. Even injured, Obi-Wan should be present in the Force, but the Force was chaotic with the screams and pain of the dead and dying, for the Force was composed of all life energy and the light of one Jedi alone could not stand out in the whirl storm of darkness. The Force keened and roared as it absorbed the dead and madly swirled about those who might only rejoin it. Peace and surcease from pain it promised to those who came to it. Peace and surcease from pain the dead found there. They were the lucky ones.

"Medics and fire suppression units," another Jedi called in coordinates as Anakin stood frozen, eyes searching the charred bodies for one clothed in brown, but there was little of the scene yet visible, hidden in nightmares of smoke and flames. He would have plunged into the midst of that inferno, tripped over bodies and dug through bones, had he any idea where to search.

_Where are you, Master? Don't die in a futile attempt to save others – save yourself. Stumble, limp, crawl out of there – drag yourself with one hand at a time. _But the silent cries of his heart went unanswered.

Swirls of gray ash and dark smoke slowly dissipated in the rain, swollen clouds bled angry tears for the misery underneath in great gushing torrents. Clonetroopers brought in the wounded, many severely burned. Anakin watched each one be carried past him, watching for a russet hued beard or hair, a brown cloak or sand-colored tunic. Near the still smoking center of destruction, medics were still working on the most severely injured; the dead still lay where they had fallen, for the moment ignored. A hand poked out of a tangle of bodies, the blackened flesh still steaming as the rain washed it free of mud.

Almost without thought, Anakin's footsteps took him into the carnage. He had seen the aftermath of hell far too many times to let hell deter him, but hell had never held his master somewhere within its boundaries. Obi-Wan was good. Obi-Wan was light. Obi-Wan was alive, not some body charred almost beyond recognition in the center of a firestorm of destruction as moist droplets cooled incinerated flesh.

As Anakin searched, his eyes grew ever colder and his mouth ever grimmer. He was near the center of the blast now; medics crouched over pitiful remnants of those once living.

The smoking ruin of the AT-AT was now steps away from him, the hot metal nearly cool now under the cool flood of rain. Bodies, or what had once been bodies, spilled out of the split open troop compartment, bones and skin crumbling to ash with one touch. What had once been arms and legs jostled and mingled in a horrifying tangle of humanity.

Clothing, hair, skin had been incinerated in the heat, rendering the victims all equal in death, for no rank, nothing, was left of the artificial divisions sentient life imposed in search of order.

Anakin's boot gently stirred the tangle as bodies wisped into bits, but no tarnished lightsaber whispered that here was one who had once been known as a Jedi master.

Anakin's search continued.

The stench of death was everywhere and body parts littered the ground. Ash and blood, cinders and bones coated the ground – a horrific scene painted in tones of black, gray and red. Clones – they were clones and the medics would not be taking DNA samples to match the living against the dead. They were clones; all the same, and all that was important to some was the number dead, the number missing, and the number living.

Anakin wanted to retch at the futility of it all. Death was death, regardless of whether it was one or more than one, even if those deaths were considered to be just one man, or one part of one whole. From the beginning, his mind had tried to see each clone as a distinct entity, for each was unique in its own way even if identical genetically to millions of others.

At this moment his mind only separated the victims into two categories: not-his-master and his master. He had to see Obi-Wan Kenobi's body for himself, to touch it, to whisper a farewell to it, to shed a tear or two over it. He dreaded it; fought against it and railed against the Force for not protecting his master, but he would not accept reality until reality stared him back in the form of sightless, staring eyes. He needed to see the body.

He didn't find one.

He was still on his knees, eyes searching and mind open to the whispers of the Force, when the other Jedi came for him and led him away from the now quiet field, fires quenched and ash mixing with blood and bone fragments into a slurry mixture. Anakin fought them with all his strength; he needed to be here until he could say goodbye – could _find _something to say goodbye to: a scrap of cloak, a piece of leather, even a lightsaber never more to be wielded in honor or defense of the innocent.

In the mud there was nothing to see, in the hiss of steam as rain quelled the last remnant of flame there was nothing to hear, and in the corner of his mind where his bond connected him with his master there was nothing to feel.

Fellow padawans, following their masters' orders, gently urged him to his feet, held him upright and tried to assuage his grief. They took his arms and ignored his struggle; half dragged him away back to base where they pressed him into a cot. He never felt the pinprick in his arm.

* * *

A low murmur of voices slowly intruded into his awareness. Moans of pain, whispered orders, a gurgle from a dying man and the soft swear word from a surgeon. Anakin knew where he was. The smell told him that as much as the sounds.

Why was he in the medical tent? He wasn't hurt, was he? He was only wet, angry, and grieving – and he remembered a terrific blast and casualties everywhere. His eyes snapped open, searched for Obi-Wan who surely would be sitting at his side, worried eyes suddenly crinkling with his grin when the two made eye contact. His master always came when he was hurt – but _he_ wasn't hurt. Obi-Wan was the one hurt. He should be sitting at his master's side, not lying down. Something was terribly wrong – where was Obi-Wan?

"Hey, take it easy there, Skywalker."

Anakin struggled up onto an elbow, feeling a bit groggy. "You drugged me," he accused.

"Only a very mild sedative, young Skywalker." General Norcuna's arms were crossed before him and his eyes were sad, but Anakin saw only the stiff posture. General Leska stood by his side, her own eyes quiet in repose.

"Master Obi-Wan?" he rubbed his head, afraid to ask, needing an answer. "Have you found him yet? Is he going to be okay? I need to be at his side."

"He is one with the Force I am afraid, where he is now well and whole." The gentle words were meant to be soothing. They were not. Anakin looked up angrily as the words registered: one with the Force – translation – dead. Something inside Anakin broke as something else spoke up in protest.

"Just tell me – he's dead. I don't want to hear how he's at peace in the Force or how we should be happy for him. He's dead, right? You found his body – take me to him." They would have to prove it to him. He would have to see Obi-Wan's dead body for himself; otherwise, he'd never believe it. It just could not be true.

"There was – nothing left to find. He was in the center of the explosion, helping the troops escape when it blew according to those who managed to survive. I am truly sorry, padawan, but Master Kenobi was killed. It is your right to inform the Council."

"Tell them what – he's missing?"

"Accept it, Padawan. Master Kenobi is dead. Isn't that why we had to bring you here – your bond shattered? Your mind must be incredibly sore."

"The bond is fine," he ground out. At their looks, he said desperately, "but it is. It's quiet, too quiet, but it hasn't been severed."

"Then where is he? Why doesn't he reach you? Padawan, we've cleared the field. We did not find Obi-Wan, or – ah – anything of him there. Search your feelings, the Force, not your heart for the truth. You know he was there… and anyone who was there is here. How could your master survive that which so many didn't?"

"I don't know, but, no…I don't believe it," Anakin said dully, but the edge of certainty had fled.

"Do you wish to inform the Council, or do you wish one of us to take that duty from you?"

"I'll tell them,' Anakin agreed. Weary resignation had taken him, though part of him was screaming _no…no! _He owed nothing less to his master.

A muscle twitched in Anakin's jaw as he waited for the holo-transmission to coalesce into being. What was the protocol in such situations? Obi-Wan cared about such things. He did not.

"Padawan Skywalker, a report you have? Where is Master Kenobi?" Mace Windu eyed him carefully, hands loosely clasped in his lap.

Maybe saying it would make him believe it. "Master Kenobi is dead – he was killed a short while ago. It was an explosion – there was nothing left of him to find."

Eight pairs of eyes focused on each other. The Council members sat in silence, only their eyes moving, and all moved to one of the vacant seats in the chamber. The other members were away from the Temple. This was not a formal meeting, then, as the absent masters were not there in holograph form. One master was not there in any form, for his form no longer existed, destroyed on Jabiim.

"I see," Mace said neutrally. His eyes drifted to Yoda's eyes and the two exchanged long looks. Anakin wondered if they were remembering years ago when padawan Kenobi called to report the death of his master. Did his blunt words live up to the example that his master had set that date? Did the Council know that inside he raged as badly, grieved as deeply, cried as silently as Obi-Wan Kenobi had that day?

"Do you wish to take leave to…," he wondered if Mace was about to say: bring his body home before he remembered there was no body to bring home, "…to mourn your master? It is your right and we know the violent severing of the bond between master and padawan like this hurts, physically and mentally. Your own master's mind was tender for days."

Anakin hadn't known that, but then he had seen little sign of visible distress in Obi-Wan in those first days, either on Naboo or upon their return to the Temple. His hands had often massaged his temple as his eyes grew cloudy, his voice perhaps a bit sharp, but in those early days Anakin had thought the hurt feelings engendered before the Council had made his new master little touched by grief at the death of the man who had so angered and shamed him.

Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had barely spoken to each other after they were dismissed from Council; spoken even less after Qui-Gon's sharp reprimand to his padawan on the landing platform as they prepared to leave Coruscant for Naboo. Anakin had never seen the blood drain so quickly from any one's face or sensed such distress expressed in the simple movement of a wheeled turn and retreat as commanded. The two Jedi had spoken little, and then only in the coldest of formal terms, on the trip to Naboo.

He had known Qui-Gon was troubled by the silence and hurt between them, and nine year old Anakin had been unhappy with Obi-Wan for making Qui-Gon sad, but the strain between the two Jedi had eased, if not disappeared, once they had landed on Naboo. The two were in harmony again, for the short time until everything changed.

It had taken young Anakin a long time to see that a Jedi kept his grief bound within, not on public display, but as to actual pain from the bond's severance - .

His own mind hurt, his stomach churned and his heart cried, but the bond felt quiet, smothered as it were, not severed. The pain of Obi-Wan's death was much as the pain of Qui-Gon's death, or the death of his mother had been – an ache, a hollowness, a missing piece – but no searing brand scorched across his mind to mark the violent end of a mental bond as Mace seemed to think.

What would he do with leave? Sit and brood? Remember all the harsh thoughts he had harbored for Obi-Wan over the years? Remember all the good times, the mutual affection that had strengthened with the years? Think of those who killed his master? Spend time in the arms of his wife – no, never that – his time with Padme was a time for joy, not sorrow.

His insides churned with his thoughts. Every time he thought he had lost his master, he had found him and had rescued him. He knew as well as anyone that as often as not, he was merely rescuing his master from a situation he had himself created, often in direct disobedience of specific orders.

His mechanical arm was a daily remainder of his impetuosity. Geonosis had left its mark on him in more ways than one. With "no, Anakin, no," ringing in his ears, he had rushed in to engage Count Dooku and been easily thrown aside by Dooku's force lightning, his every nerve smoking and frying from the bolts.

Dazed, he could do nothing but watch as his master calmly faced Dooku, alone. "I can't take him alone," Obi-Wan had insisted, on the way, but on his own he was. He had fought well and bravely, but imprisonment and the earlier fight in the Geonosis arena had left their mark; Dooku's unorthodox tactics proved too much. Anakin had almost lost his master then, when he lay helpless and wounded. Determination that he would not lose Obi-Wan brought him, fried nerves and all, to intersect the descending blade meant to take Obi-Wan's life, until he, too, had been defeated.

Yoda had saved them both, that day.

In later years, Obi-Wan had been the bait, a potential sacrifice to the greater good that Anakin was determined would never be an actual sacrifice, in many of their more daring moves - the ones that had won them acclaim for bold tactics and Anakin the reputation of saving his master from more unhappy fates than any Jedi master should be forced to face. That he had put Obi-Wan in need of those rescues went unnoticed.

This time, it was too late for a rescue. This time, Obi-Wan had died.

Obi-Wan had trusted him to save him, which was he was so willing to put himself in peril that few would wish to, time after time. He had died, for his misplaced faith in Anakin.

He owed it to Obi-Wan to stay.

"No. I am needed here," he declared.

"Very well, stay you shall," Yoda spoke up. "Your master – Obi-Wan was a good man and a good Jedi. Missed he will be. Remember that, and to uphold his training he would wish for you. May the Force be with you."

Anger rose within him; Anakin choked back the bile. Condescending little troll! Their beloved Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead – his beloved master was dead – and the only words Yoda offered was a reminder to live up to his dead master's training. Obi-Wan had been quite fond of Yoda in his understated way; he had thought Yoda just as fond in return, but apparently Obi-Wan was just another Jedi, fallen in the service of the Republic, his death a source of regret but no real sorrow.

"Master," Anakin bowed his head, seething internally. He owed more than he had realized to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He hadn't known just how much until he had lost him. He owed his master vengeance now. Vengeance was not forbidden; revenge was. Vengeance was his purpose.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would be avenged and his padawan would be the one to administer justice.

For the next few weeks and weeks stretching into months, that need was the only thing that drove him on.

On an entirely different planet, one man's ordeal had just begun.


	3. Repercussions and Reactions

Shock spread quickly through the Jedi Temple. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead. Barely ascended to the Jedi Council, and now dead. Killed on Jabiim. Blown up in a fiery explosion and not even enough of him left to provide a proper Jedi funeral. His funeral pyre had come while he yet lived: his body shattered and aflame before his spirit had time to flee the crumbling shell.

He certainly wasn't the first Jedi to die in the war. He wouldn't be the last. But the shock waves of this death had more impact than many of the others.

Easily one of the more accessible Jedi – especially of the Council – he was respected for his easy, if quirky humor, his grace, and his disarming manner. A ferocious warrior who preferred to talk his way out of situations, a demanding yet fair taskmaster who demanded no less from himself than from others, he was the master of the Chosen One. One such as he could not fall in battle. One such as he had destiny on his side, and one such as he had the Force protecting him.

Yet he had died on Jabiim.

If one were not sensitive to the nuances of the Force or could not sense the emotions held within a Jedi's control, one might not know the sense of impossibility and sorrow that filled the Temple when the report came from Padawan Skywalker and filtered though the ranks.

Voices were more hushed in the halls and eyes even more somber.

Though the grief was real and the sorrow was for the man, it was also true that Obi-Wan Kenobi's death brought home the very real possibility of death for any one of them. If Obi-Wan Kenobi could fall, so too could any one of them. No Jedi was immune. The greedy fingers of death could take any one of them and send them into the Force sooner than any of them would hope.

As Jedi, they would learn to accept and then to release the sorrow; to be little affected by the loss. It was how Jedi dealt with feelings, for feelings could paralyze one or affect one's actions if held onto – but there was always that period before acceptance and release, when one mourned and one's heart was heavy.

But as of yet, the news had not reached the rest of the Temple: Padawan Terzah had not made his rounds, black ribbon or ribbons in hand. Terzah had become, quite literally, the bearer of life or of death, symbolized by what he held, or where it was placed.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead_.

The shock of the words still lingered. In the Council chambers high above the Temple, Yoda and Mace Windu sat long after Council adjourned, somber of mien. They had meant to speak of Obi-Wan's padawan, still in need of guidance and now without the one they most trusted to guide him. Instead, both gazed at the empty chair that Obi-Wan had so recently filled: his easy slouch and crossed legs filling the chair as if he had always belonged there. Humbled by his appointment, Obi-Wan had soon become a dominating presence, his soft spoken voice and quick mind often leading the Council to consensus after consensus after prolonged and contentious debate.

The sun was slowly sinking, the last of its light slowly being banished by shadows that crept across the patterned floor and sent hungry tentacles creeping up the empty chair - only to flee, temporarily vanquished, by the last feeble light of the sun. Here in this place, the light had always found Obi-Wan Kenobi. Once, many years before, Padawan Kenobi had stood illuminated in the last of the setting sun's rays as shadows crept over the master who stood next to him, proclaiming the boy Anakin to be his new apprentice.

Never again had Padawan Kenobi stood there. The next time he had stood there, it had been as a knight, the light in and around him stronger than ever, for the padawan had battled both a Sith and the darkness and emerged victorious. Always in the light, Kenobi had been, a steady flame beating against encroaching darkness.

So it was only just, only expected, that the last lingering golden shades of the dying day lay over his seat, a reminder of the light that had once shone so brightly. _Destined for greatness_, Qui-Gon Jinn had once said, rare words spoken by one not given to extravagant claims. Ironic, too, considering the master's speaking for another apprentice only months later. _The brighter the flame, the quicker its ending_, so true it seemed, for the Jedi as well as the candle.

A far greater light, even, was the "Chosen One." It was why Yoda and Mace remained, in this place of shadows and light.

"He shall be missed," Mace broke the silence. Few would have heard the faint weariness and heaviness in his tone.

"Yes, indeed," Yoda agreed, a sad swivel of his ears accentuating the words as his tone did not. "By the Order and admit must I by myself too. Sad I am not, for home in the Force he is, yet sorrow I feel."

The sentiment made perfect sense to Mace. "He became a close friend. After Qui-Gon Jinn died, I felt I owed it to my old friend to keep an eye on him as all former masters do on their knighted padawans. I didn't expect – there were times I almost forgot he wasn't _my_ old padawan. I valued his friendship, as did you."

"Sad is their legacy. Each padawan reporting the death in battle of his master. Shocked I was when Obi-Wan reported from Naboo. Shocked I am now with this report from Jabiim."

Both masters fell silent as they remembered how eerily similar each report was. Battle – one fallen – a padawan left to grieve; a valued Jedi one with the Force. The Order was bleeding with the steady loss of its best and brightest; the generation growing into leadership and meant to be the Order's future was slipping instead into the Force.

"Tragic this loss is." Yoda rarely whispered. For a moment, he looked ancient and weathered. A blink of his eyes hid the moment of weakness. "More clouded than ever the future is. Speaks to me not does the Force, in mourning perhaps too it is. Thought I would that young Kenobi's passing I would feel. Muddled, is all."

"Do you think Obi-Wan's padawan is right – that Kenobi is alive somehow?" Mace somehow hoped that Yoda was in agreement with Skywalker on this. Yoda had always had some kind of a bond with Obi-Wan, one that been inexplicable to Yoda but present from Obi-Wan's infancy, as if their fates were somehow intertwined. Fondness and respect had bound the two together, much as the Force had bound master and apprentice together with love and respect.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a lucky man: he had been bound by deep ties of friendship with Qui-Gon Jinn, Yoda, and Anakin Skywalker, not to mention childhood friends that never grew distant. Few men shared such deep bonds; perhaps the Force had gifted the man with this in recognition of the burdens and trials the Jedi would face.

A pause and Yoda slowly shook his head. "Wish to believe I do. Believe, I do not."

"How the Force does Kenobi do it!" Siri hissed in frustration. There was a lump in her stomach that didn't seem to go away, almost silent and elusive fingers of Force crawling up and down her spine, and a sense of waiting that kept her forever on edge.

Whatever was behind these formless feelings of menace and loss twisting through her, it was persistent. The sight of a blue lightsaber springing to being in the sparring rooms, an overheard chuckle, or the sight of a studious padawan muttering on the intricacies of diplomacy stirred up the dread each time she thought it vanquished.

She didn't know which sensation bothered her more, that elusive feeling of something wrong, or the memory of that touch, _his_ touch, somehow so right.

Even now, a week later, Siri would suddenly notice that a finger had slipped above her brow, gently caressing _that spot_ where Obi-Wan had ever so gently placed that innocent and – affectionate – kiss. It wasn't your typical Jedi gesture and it most certainly wasn't Obi-Wan Kenobi's typical gesture. Then again, the way her breathing quickened when she thought of it was not very Jedi-like, either.

Why had the Force chosen to unsettle Siri with feelings of foreboding regarding one she could not help? Was she meant to keep him from going – but no, keeping Obi-Wan from duty was nothing she would ever do, or Obi-Wan, either, for that matter. Were his death certain, she would have let him go and he would have gone. Why was she meant to feel his loss, if not because she was to lose him?

The Force did not speak, unless the tingle in her fingers or the ache in her heart was the words it chose.

Both of them had chosen silence for the better part of two decades now. Two decades during which they had matured both as adults and as Jedi. Two decades in which the passions of youth had muted to a mere memory, a former life that never truly was. Was she to learn another time the resilience of a wounded heart, of how to continue to live when the one loved was no more?

"I – don't – have – bad – feelings," Siri muttered to herself, cajoled with herself, argued with the dominant practical side of herself. That side of herself merely rolled its eyes and shrugged.

With her temporary assignment to the Temple, Siri had too much free time to think. Too much time trying to come to grips with the ominous feeling that was gripping her; and try as she might, she could not rid herself of the feeling.

For perhaps the first time, she regretted the numerous times she had teased Obi-Wan about his "bad feelings." He took it in good humor, as with most teasing, but now she knew as never before how real the feeling was, and how it must feel to have those feelings be a source of amusement to one's friends and colleagues. For his entire life someone had been mocking his "bad feelings."

What had made the teasing of Obi-Wan so unusual was that a Jedi was expected to tap into his feelings, as guided by the Force. Perhaps the difference was the verbal expression of them. Obi-Wan was always so – earnest – about them. Baldly stated, murmured, whispered – it was easier to ignore or tease him. A bad habit started, in part, because his own master had been prone to dismiss them as mere anxiety on the padawan's part.

Qui-Gon Jinn had been far more in touch with the Living Force – the here and now of the moment, willing to let the future take care of itself as he took care of the present. His padawan's focus was forward-directed, though as he matured he had fallen more in rhythm with both sides of the Force.

Obi-Wan had taken himself far too seriously, far too often, to Siri's way of thinking. Oh, the mirth and joy were there, inside, as they always had been. Without them, he might have become a pompous, pontificating – unbearable - Jedi. Her mission had always been to tease him and unsettle him, so that the real Obi-Wan would never be trapped within the role that he thought duty bound him to.

He had grown stern and strict as Anakin failed to settle into his role of obedient padawan in his adolescence. The young man challenged and questioned his master; bent his patience to the straining point.

Then Geonosis happened, and the Clone Wars began. Anakin had matured as a result and Obi-Wan had become far more relaxed as the two's relationship grew closer, though Obi-Wan confided in a very few his continuing worries. The war had, by necessity, overruled his attempts to understand the changes in the young man and to try to deal with them.

Why Siri had these feelings and Obi-Wan hadn't bothered her. She desperately hoped it wasn't because he would be the one affected by whatever was sure to go wrong. Bad feelings not withstanding, he had never failed to come out from his experiences alive. Perhaps that was what worried her: that this time he would not and the Force had kept this from him.

Obi-Wan would probably tell her to meditate on her feelings, she thought wryly, as if meditation had ever helped Obi-Wan rid himself of them. He had known that he could do nothing other than to accept it, wait for it, and take action to minimize risks. She had already done what she could, little as it was: tell Obi-Wan to be careful.

A little shiver ran down her spine every time she thought of him. At least, Anakin had promised to look after his master, and Anakin had always been there to save him. The only thing she could do now was to press her finger nails into the palms of her hand every time Padawan Terzah passed by and hope his destination was not the Kenobi-Skywalker quarters with his macabre offering to the living by marking the passage of yet another Jedi.

Too many black ribbons fluttered from name plates, too many trees, shrubs or plants were planted in memory of the departed and far too many memory moths whispered the name of the dead for all eternity.

Suddenly the skin at the back of her neck prickled and a feeling of absolute dread spread out from her heart. _No_, she breathed silently and turned. Blood no longer flowed through her; it had turned to ice. Her heart no longer beat: it had been shocked into silence. She _knew_, yet she had to ask.

Padawan Terzah was passing by, black ribbon in hand.

_No! _A silent scream ripped through the Force and was as quickly stifled. .

Padawan Terzah walked quietly through the halls, his mission obvious from the object he carried. His was a solemn duty: the placing of a badge of honor and respect for the fallen. He was used to the sense of his fellow Jedi half turning away from him as he approached, swiveling to look after him as he passed, each Jedi all too aware of what the passage of Padawan Terzah meant at this time of day. It didn't bother him.

Today it did.

As the bearer of bad tidings he was never a welcome sight, even to a Jedi. His presence at this time of day, one or more black ribbons in hand, meant one more Jedi had fallen, one more Jedi had added his light to the Force. At the rate that the Jedi were dying, Terzah figured the light side of the Force had to be gaining strength against the darkness. Each death of a Jedi was perhaps the sacrifice that would ensure that the younglings and initiates, junior padawans and the Republic's citizens for whom the Jedi fought and died would have a future.

As long as Terzah looked at each ribbon as a symbol of a life saved, rather than a life lost, this duty didn't usually bother him. As all masters were wont to say, it was all in one's point of view. Usually he made his rounds without much awareness of what he was doing – carefully affixing the ribbon across a nameplate before updating the Temple roster – and then returning to his studies or own evening meal.

Today, his hands trembled, for he had known Master Kenobi better than many of the Jedi who had preceded him into the Force. When home on leave, Master Kenobi had always made it a point to drop in on classes on diplomacy or sometimes lead a lightsaber class. To have "The Negotiator" himself spend time talking to senior padawans not quite old enough to be fighting in the war, to hear the man famous for his exploits at the side of his even more famous padawan, take time away from a rare leave home from war to speak of avoiding war by peaceful means had impressed Terzah tremendously.

Then, to have Master Kenobi graciously spend some of his last hours of leave with a padawan, reviewing material said padawan struggled with the very night before returning to war, had cemented Terzah's respect and hope to someday be even half the Jedi that Master Kenobi was.

Now just over a week later, Terzah's role model as a Jedi was dead: the man who preferred words to the sword had died by the sword.

There were many days he did not have this duty and Padawan Terzah was greeted in his passage through the hallways. Today was not one of those days, and this was the appointed time for this duty. As usual, no one would greet him and no one would speak to him, for no one would wish to know the news he carried. That it was carried was news enough.

He usually avoided eye contact with those he passed, as they avoided contact with him, their voices silenced at the sight of Padawan Terzah, black ribbon in hand. He rounded a corner, and the light hearted chatter died away as the Jedi on their way to or fro registered his presence.

To Terzah's shock, a female knight called out to him in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Padawan – who?" The voice was durasteel hard, but when he dared to look the knight in the face, he saw that the hardness was a steeling against expected pain.

"Master Kenobi," he said, willing himself not to look at his toes and to keep his voice steady.

The Force wailed with the discordant sound of a broken heart, raw pain bleeding into it for the merest moment before Terzah wondered if he had imagined it, so quickly gone it was, but the Force still shuddered with the aftereffects of grief that had ripped through it. The emotion had been immediately controlled, hidden behind shields, the source of the pain now almost impossible to trace.

Amidst the exclamations of dismay and sorrow, among the "Obi-Wan?" and "Master Kenobi?" names spilling from shocked lips, there had been one disbelieving stifled cry and it had come from the female knight who had stopped him. Her face had drained of color though she looked otherwise serene.

Unmistakably, it had emanated from the female knight - a close friend of Master Kenobi's, then, perhaps Knight Tachi.

"I'm so sorry," he offered lamely. He bowed and hurried on his way, shaken by the encounter. His reality had shifted. He was no longer carrying a symbol of lives saved, but of a life lost. Suddenly it was all too real, and the price of war seemed too high, even if the result was peace.

_Obi-Wan_ is dead. Obi-Wan _is_ dead. Obi-Wan is – _dead_. No, Obi-Wan can't be dead. Siri stood frozen as her mind tried to make sense of the words. She had warned him to be careful. She had loosened the gates of her heart just enough to show him how worried she was. Siri Tachi didn't have bad feelings and Siri Tachi never admitted to vulnerability, but Siri Tachi had experienced both and admitted them to Obi-Wan.

In response, Obi-Wan had given her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She had thought it was a promise he would come back, but perhaps it had been a gesture of farewell. Perhaps, he, too, had sensed that he would not be coming back.

He had done it in front of his padawan, in sight of anyone who may have been nearby, and the expression in his eyes just before he leaned in had held a glimmer of amusement and affection. It had also held an awareness that he had just given his padawan a weapon to use against him, and didn't care.

Siri closed her eyes against the news as if by doing so she could shut out the words. All it did do was bring a picture of Obi-Wan into her mind: an insufferable padawan who seemed stuffier than any Jedi she knew, a friend any one would be lucky to have once she let herself really see the young man he was; a young man who had kissed her and she him before they walked away from each other to remain on the Jedi path, their love forbidden and locked away with the tears inside their hearts.

Dead!

The young man she loved, with a braid a ways below his shoulder, not yet to his waist as it would be. A knight, braid now shorn and soft locks waving where once they stood close-cropped and the mirthful eyes now deep pools of mourning and determination intermingled. The beard he grew to lend an air of authority, transforming the young man outwardly into a mature adult, but it had only transformed his look to closer match the air he already carried himself with.

Years and missions left their mark: hair that silvered at his temples, lines that added character rather than marring the smooth young countenance, a calm serenity that had weathered all too many tragedies and griefs and accepted what joys counterbalanced them.

_Oh, Force, Obi-Wan_.

Blue-gray eyes crinkling with amusement…a hand rubbing a whiskered chin…the quick grin and the sometimes gruff voice – no longer things that belonged to one alive, but belonged only to memories now.

Denial – pain – anger flashed through her, and then, only immense sorrow. Siri Tachi showed no sign of her inward emotion. Obi-Wan Kenobi was now one with the Force, and a Jedi should rejoice in that, and if that were not yet possible, accept it.

_Goodbye my friend_…and Siri knew she couldn't say goodbye. Her mind was releasing her friend but her heart was holding onto the man she loved. She didn't want to think that Obi-Wan had died never knowing she still loved him. They couldn't acknowledge their love, even to themselves, so she had buried it deep within but it still shone bright within her heart, never allowed outward expression.

Love, held within tender hands and sealed with just one kiss, lay deep within a Jedi's heart, for only there was it allowed life.

Fighting to keep a mask of impassivity on her features, Siri knew there was only one place to be, Obi-Wan's favorite spot: the Room of a Thousand Fountains. She could not throw herself in his arms, hold his face between her hands and lose herself in the reality of his touch which she surely would have done despite everything had Obi-Wan only showed up to dispel the rumors of his death.

She sought the bench he favored, tucked under a vine of flowers, within sight of the water with a burbling fountain only a few feet away. Exquisite small white flowers were half hidden within the veined blue-green leaves with a fragrance that was fresh and faint; like the flowers themselves, elusive. Obi-Wan had loved this spot – it held the meaning of the universe, he had said with a hint of a self-conscious laugh. He had gone on to explain that it always reminded him of his master and his lessons on being attuned to the Living Force.

"There is beauty and purpose in everything, Padawan, you merely have to see it though it may be hidden from sight and not obvious." He had spoken softly, his words wrapped in mists of memory and Siri knew he was remembering when Qui-Gon had uttered those simple words. They had obviously taken root in the mind of the padawan who seemed little attuned to the Living Force when younger.

A padawan turned knight in the aftermath of one terrible day, unable to give voice to his grief, had sought solace here where one Haleothe vine proved the truth of the beloved master's philosophy of life.

It was here where Siri had found Obi-Wan after Qui-Gon's death, unable to sleep once he had tucked his padawan into bed. He had been huddled in against himself, cloak pulled tight against an aching grief, the cloak warding off a chill that came from inside rather than out. She had known how deep his pain was when he made no objection when she sat next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He had merely sighed and leaned his head against hers, and there they had sat silently, with arms entwined, until the peace he sought had allowed him to pat her hand in thanks and return to his quarters.

This day she would sit with her own pain, but there would be no one to share it with her

_Damn you, Kenobi! Don't you know this time I need your shoulder to lean on?_

The path took Siri in a gentle curve, under the boughs of arching trees and past exotic shrubs. Of all the rooms in the Temple, this was the one that truly embodied the Living Force, a place for many Jedi to heal the wounds of the soul. Here _was_, and here one could merely _be_, timeless and eternal, finding peace and serenity.

"Ah, Knight Tachi, join me." Master Yoda was sitting on the bench, leaning forward onto his stick. "Come have you to meditate on our loss? A favorite spot of Master Kenobi this was."

Siri really wanted to be alone, but she would not be impolite to Master Yoda. What excuse had she, anyway, to leave when this obviously had been her destination?

"Suffered a great loss we have," Yoda was solemn. "Many losses – Geonosis, battles near and far – Yaddle – now Master Kenobi. Feel the weight of all of them I do." Sad eyes rose to meet Siri's and with a rare gentleness, he said, "feelings still you have for him, is it not so? Deep is your grief. Parting you was wise at the time; keeping you apart perhaps not. To duty both of you devoted."

"How is his padawan taking his master's death?" Siri asked, taking a seat, ignoring the rest of what he said. She could not dwell on what might have been and was denied.

"Padawan Skywalker in denial he is, though he was the one to contact the Council. Deeply attached to his master was he, now fighting with the other padawans he is. Rage fuels him as much as grief, worried I am for him."

That was the danger of attachment, born of friendship, affection or love. Letting grief, loss, or fear of such, affect one's behavior. Anakin Skywalker had always felt deeply, but rather than letting his feelings guide him, he often let them dictate his actions. The ability to move beyond this was what Jedi sought; it was a requirement that one achieve this before knighthood and one reason Anakin Skywalker was not ready to be knighted.

His master had known this, feared his inability to train his padawan to let go of what he held so tightly clenched. "My greatest failure," Obi-Wan had admitted once, when driven to seek advice from other masters.

"He should know that Obi-Wan would not want that for him. He would want Anakin to accept his death and move on."

"Know we both do that _should _and_ do_ does not Padawan Skywalker always. A concern, always this was, for the master. Ignored this we should not have, let down Obi-Wan we did when our counsel he sought. Warned him of caution I did, yet heeded him not when caution was needed. Control of his emotions young Skywalker has not."

"It takes time when one feels deeply," Siri said quietly, thinking how long it took Obi-Wan to completely recover from the loss of his master. True, it had followed a deeply emotional trying time. True, it had occurred in front of his padawan. True, it had also severed a strong bond between master and padawan and the pain of that had seared deeply when the mental link had been violently severed. Any of that alone would have been reason enough for Obi-Wan to fight to regain his equilibrium.

Add to that the deep affection he held for his master, and the blow had been severe. It had taken time for the new knight to reach full acceptance and release.

"Miss him, I shall," Yoda stated simply. His eyes blinked at her. "For each other both of you cared deeply. Wrong that was not, time it will take for you to grieve, too, Siri. Leave you to mourn Obi-Wan I will."

_Wrong that was not. _So Yoda knew what she concealed deep in her heart, and did not condemn her. They had been told to give each other up and they had, but not entirely.

_For each other both of you cared deeply._

Had Obi-Wan still loved her? After making his choice, as had she, between the other and the Jedi, vowing to forget their feelings – had Obi-Wan still loved her? The so-called perfect Jedi: few knew his inner rebellion and chafing under rules he thought wrong even as he upheld the Code as few others did, did his duty as few others did, acted the perfect Jedi as few others did. It was a side of Obi-Wan that few knew of and one he rarely acknowledged even to himself. It wasn't even present often, but a perfect Jedi would never have such feelings.

They were questions for which there would never be answers. It had hurt, those many years ago, to separate. Now, the separation was forever.

"A sad day, a sad day indeed," Yoda said as he stood. With a quick flash of his lightsaber, he cut off a section of vine and presented it to Siri with a bow. "Still here, Obi-Wan is. For in the Force is all, even in this vine."

Siri clutched the small vine close, breathing in its essence. Yoda was right; for now, she held Obi-Wan in her hands as well as in her heart and memories.

A tear glimmered in her eyes.

Somewhere far across the galaxy….

"Agh." The harsh moan came again, sliding in and out of mists, the sound at first faint but steadily growing louder. Someone was in pain, and from the sound of it, only partially conscious. Who – what – was there something he could do for the person's pain – incoherent thoughts twisted in his mind as the Jedi slowly gained consciousness, his head pounding. Out of habit, a hand reached to rub his head, but to his surprise, he was unable to move. _I'm paralyzed_, was his panicked reaction. He remembered a blast and little else, but he hurt everywhere, which probably meant he wasn't paralyzed.

The man moaning, he suddenly realized, was himself, and the man was indeed in pain.

"So, the despised Jedi awakes," a harsh, cold, and feminine voice spoke from somewhere above him.

Obi-Wan licked his lips, trying to force words out through a raspy throat – he wondered just what had happened and how long ago; just how did he come be in the hands of Asajj Ventress?

He had a very bad feeling about this.


	4. A Hero is Remembered

Out of respect for Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan's insistence that his master was still alive, the bond not severed, the Council had held off declaring Master Kenobi dead or scheduling a service for him. But as days stretched into weeks, into a month and beyond, the Council decided it was time to honor their fallen comrade, as they had so many others before him. Obi-Wan Kenobi deserved no less. He had served the Order faithfully for years. His humility, trademark good humor and utter reliance on the Force had made him a role model to many.

The Council choose a day, one of no special significance other than that it would be the day the Jedi Order said goodbye to one of its leaders. The ceremony would be a quiet, private affair, but when word reached the Chancellor, he insisted the ceremony be public.

"Master Kenobi deserves a state funeral," Palpatine insisted. "The man died a hero. The Republic expects no less."

The Council demurred: all Jedi who died in the war died honorably. They had not had state funerals, nor would Master Kenobi. He would be horrified at the thought of being singled out amongst his fellows, for nothing more than dying while doing his duty.

"He was a member of your Council, one of the leaders of your Order," Palpatine persisted. "He was one of the heroes of the Republic; the citizens expect no less. The Negotiator's death cannot go unrecognized."

It was then that Yoda spoke up, having let Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi do most of the talking up to that point.

"Unrecognized, you say? Unrecognized? Master Kenobi's death a blow to many. A great loss it was to us. Grieve for him do I, miss him I do. 'Unrecognized' – a disservice to the Jedi it is to suggest that."

The Chancellor looked taken aback at Yoda's words, for they were spoken in great sorrow. He bowed in head in acknowledgement with an apology. "I beg pardon for my presumption, Master Yoda. I had not thought his loss was so personal to you as the Jedi are presumed to be largely free of emotion."

"A common misconception it is. Display, act on emotion a Jedi does not. Feel, a Jedi must. From feelings come compassion and empathy for others, when the heart it is guided by the mind and Force."

"Ah, yes, a most noble sentiment, fitting indeed for an Order that is devoted to peace and justice. The Jedi Order has long served the Republic well; its dedication is greatly appreciated by those of us also in service to the Republic."

The words of a politician, smooth and bland. Yoda's ears curled, but he offered mildly, "Understand we do that Master Kenobi a higher public profile than many Jedi. Suggest a compromise I do: no state funeral but open to dignitaries I suggest, such as Senator Amidala of Naboo, those who knew Master Kenobi personally or come from worlds that benefited from his skills as a diplomat. Simple the ceremony shall be, as Master Kenobi would wish, a gathering of friends to say a final goodbye."

_I am not in denial. I _know_ Obi-Wan is dead._

_If you know, why don't you _believe

_For the same reason Anakin believes he is alive: because our knowing is of our minds, our believing is of our hearts and the Force. We would know, and accept it, if it were true._

_And that is what makes it so damn hard to get through each day._

_Even so, I grieve._

It was one reason Siri threw herself into the classes she was teaching. Siri was almost too exhausted to think, which had been part of her goal. It had the unfortunate side effect of making it all too easy to feel, which she was trying desperately to avoid. She found instead a new outlet, focusing all her attention on the almost-senior padawans in her training classes. Concentrating on the group kept her occupied as she worked through her conflicted feelings.

Sparring had once been fun – in the past. Now, one's skill with a lightsaber might very well be the determinant of a Jedi's future. No matter how hard she worked them – how she corrected them, challenged them, perfected their technique, she would never be satisfied. They couldn't be good. They couldn't be great. They had to be perfect.

Running a hand through her damp hair as she left the training sallé, she stopped short as Master Yoda stood before her, clearly waiting. "Working the padawans hard you are," he chided her. "Half the class nearly dead from exhaustion."

"Better than dead from a lack of skill," Siri nearly snapped, but caught it in time. Force, she couldn't talk that way to Yoda. "Master."

"Wish to save them you do."

Siri pursed her lips. Yoda never failed to poke whatever wound bled the most, likening it to letting the poison out so the wound would heal.

"They're almost old enough to fight in the war. That makes them almost old enough to die. I intend they have the skills to live."

"So greater skill should Obi-Wan have had? Died, did he, a capable warrior when he should have been exceptional – a Jedi of legend?" Yoda had stopped and leant on his gimer stick, eyes staring intently into hers. He saw too much.

She formed her reply with difficulty. "I wasn't talking about Obi-Wan." Damn him. Damn him for making her think of _him_. Damn _him_ for dying!

"Weren't you? Died, he did not, for lack of lightsaber skills. Died, he did, saving others. Died, you might say, for having too large a heart." Yoda waited until Siri nodded, then tapped her shin gently with his stick. "Outside the Temple you should go – mission I have for you, if you wish it. Date chosen it has been for Master Kenobi's memorial– publicly released the news to be, announcement to be made tomorrow. Wish I do that Obi-Wan's friends outside the Temple you notify."

Break the news? Tell them their good friend was dead? No, she didn't want to be the one, couldn't be the one – but they should hear it from a friend, not from the Holonet.

"Dex." For sure, she would have to let Dex Jettster know. Qui-Gon had introduced the two not long after taking Obi-Wan as his apprentice, and as incongruous as it seemed, the thirteen-year-old human padawan and the craggy and somewhat disreputable huge Besalisk had immediately hit it off. To Qui-Gon's eternal consternation, Dex invariably snuck the boy a sugar-laden treat when the two Jedi stopped by the diner. Once he had threatened to leave Obi-Wan in Dex's charge until the sugar wore off – and then had to make good on his word when Dex accepted the challenge.

Yoda blinked as he nodded. "Yes. Didi Oni, his daughter, too. Contact Senator Amidala myself I will, as know her well I do and more formal that will be. Touched many lives, did Obi-Wan, learned this from his master he did, and well. Honored we will be if join us they do."

At this time of day, the streets were not terribly crowded. A lack of crowds corresponded to a lack of clientele. Slow, it was always slow between midday and last day meals. Dex's Diner sat unapologetically, a small one-story building, in the midst of much larger buildings. This section of Coruscant was undergoing "renovation" and Dex figured someday he'd have to move on. Keeping a diner was perhaps the twenty seventh occupation he'd practiced, and it had proved no less work than mining, smuggling, or any of the other occupations he had had. His rough and tumble days were largely behind him, but his four hands were often in the thick of news and the occasional brawl.

He had always had a soft spot for the Jedi, even in the days when their ideals and his chosen occupation were, as he liked to put it, "at odds." They never pulled a fast one on you, never got unnecessarily rough, and were quite the forgiving folk. When he'd decided he was getting too old to hang out around asteroids and the seedier citizens of the galaxy and get "respectable," the Jedi became some of his best customers. Some of them even became friends.

What with the war and all, Dex didn't see many Jedi nowadays. Always off fighting they were and far too many of them not making it back for a "special."

Dex leaned against the counter, all four beefy arms at rest. He looked up as the door opened and a brown robed Jedi entered. His eyes brightened.

"Lass, it's good to see ya'. Ya' didn't bring the kid with you this time," Dex observed, placing two hands on his hips in pretend outrage.

The Jedi threw off her hood. "Let's sit down," Siri said quietly.

"Sure, sure – you want the special? One special for the Jedi," he called to the waitress droid and lumbered after the Jedi to a booth, squeezing his bulk into a bench seat with some difficulty.

"Ya hidin'?" he asked genially, considering they were in the back corner of the diner, as far away from the scattering of other diners as it was possible to get. "Setting up for a tryst, maybe?" A Besalisk wink was rather a fearsome sight.

"I did want some privacy," the Jedi said succinctly, ignoring Dex's jibe. "You should know – Obi-Wan," she hesitated a moment.

"Ya' two kids givin' up the Jedi for each other? Hookin' up and galomphin' 'round the galaxy? Obi-Wan afraid to tell me hisself?" The big figure chuckled. The thought of any Jedi, let alone Obi-Wan, frightened was amusing.

"What?"

It was the first time Dex remembered a Jedi showing surprise.

"Ya' two – darn shame you Jedi don't believe in attachment. Never saw two folks so meant for each other and –"

"Dex!"

"Yes, lass?" Dex blinked. He knew that Jedi voice. He took in the Jedi's manner – and realized she was pretty upset, for a Jedi. He doubted many others would pick up on it. He gentled his rumble of a voice as much as possible. "Yes, lass?"

"Obi-Wan hasn't been a kid in decades, Dex," she reminded him and took a deep breath. "And now he's – Dex, he's dead. Killed, on Jabiim."

"Well, now. Well – darn it, don't that beat all," Dex said heavily, his sorrow immediate and deep. "The kid – hits me right in the gut that does."

"Will you come to his memorial service? Obi-Wan would want his friends there."

Dex nodded. "That's darn considerate of you Jedi. Ain't many get inside that fancy Temple of yours. Darn war – I've known that kid since he was knee high to his master with a voice higher than Qui-Gon's head. I'm gonna miss that kid. Wouldn't miss it for nothin', Miss Siri."

A small notice appeared in the Senate minutes, to the effect that the Jedi Order had listed Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, known as "The Negotiator" as dead. Shortly after, a story made it onto the Holonet. It was a brief summary of his career, ending with the notation that Master Kenobi had been only recently appointed to the Jedi Council. The short story ended the newscast.

The story soon exploded, sparked by the Chancellor's speech to the Senate, thanking those giving those lives for the defense of the Republic, including the "esteemed" Jedi whose death broke up the "remarkable team" of Kenobi-Skywalker and praising the young Padawan for bravely holding up. It didn't take long for the Holonet to pick up the story and sensationalize it: "The Negotiator" declared dead, "The Hero Without Fear" valiantly struggling on alone though his heart was broken, putting duty and the Republic before his own grief. In the succeeding days, the Holonet was filled with speculation on what the Jedi's death would mean to the war effort and to his padawan, "The Hero Without Fear," far away on some unnamed battlefield.

Inside the Jedi Temple, the Holonet was ignored, preparations for the funeral ceremony few and minimal. The crematory was aired out and the pyre prepared, but the pyre would hold no body this time.

One of the corner spires, the crematory was almost as old as the oldest part of the Temple. Built of rough, natural stone, accessed by wide stone steps, its thick walls were broken by wide openings covered by wooden shutters and its rough floors polished to a smooth shine from generations of mourning Jedi. Here a Jedi was symbolically joined to the Force; the grief of the mourners released in accompaniment to the departed spirit. Here the Force healed those left behind.

Against the gray stone walls, colorful bouquets of flowers stood out. Many worlds had cause to remember Obi-Wan Kenobi, and many governments had chosen to show their gratitude with ornate stands of exotic flowers.

The day of the ceremony chosen to honor Obi-Wan Kenobi's life, swollen gray clouds filled the sky beyond the window openings as Jedi filed into the small chamber used for an untold number of years. A place that had seen generations of Jedi released to the Force, it was filled with a silent beauty born of the Force. Rain poured from the sky as thunder boomed in a rare Coruscanti thunderstorm. It was as if the Force itself was protesting Obi-Wan's death, Bant whispered to Siri as the two Jedi filed slowly in with Garen and Reeft flanking them. As Obi-Wan's oldest friends, they stood opposite the Council members in the circle. Bant's silver eyes had gone steel gray and Garen's normal ruddy face was pale as they faced the pyre.

Between the two groups stood government representatives and Obi-Wan's civilian friends: Dex Jettster, Didi Ono and his daughter Astri, a few other civilians, some who felt uncomfortable among the Jedi and officials and some who felt comfortable in the company.

Noticeably absent was Obi-Wan's padawan. He had refused to attend. The Jedi did not approve, but they hid their feelings as always. Dex looked like he itched to ask why but was too much of a gentleman; the sight of the rough, intimidating Besalisk doing his best to bite his tongue would have been amusing in other circumstances.

Astri leaned forward and asked Bant, who diplomatically whispered he was unable to take leave. Astri looked disbelieving, but nodded and passed on the information to her father, who dabbed at his eyes.

"I still can't believe that any one could be so cruel as to lay hands on his person," Didi's mournful voice whispered. "So devastated must his padawan be, not to be here."

"Papa, shhh," Astri whispered as his arms curled protectively around his daughter's shoulders. She was crying silently; her father a bit louder. _The home you find is sometimes the home you were meant to have_. Obi-Wan had consoled her with those words just days after they first met, when Astri and he had held vigil for Didi, dying of poison in the Jedi Healers Ward while waiting for word of Qui-Gon, who was a prisoner of Jenna Zan Arbor. Obi-Wan had found his home, his place, with the Jedi.

The funeral pyre was empty, empty except for a holopic of the man, caught in an unguarded moment of pure laughter. Predating the beard and post the braid, it was of Obi-Wan about a year or so after his knighting. A Jedi had few personal effects and there was very little of personal merit to stand in place of the absent body. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been incinerated in the blast; not even his lightsaber had been recovered. Anakin refused to let the Council burn Obi-Wan's padawan braid; he had refused to attend stating his master was alive and he would not lend credence to the ceremony by his presence, and he would honor his master by attending to his duty, staying on Jabiim.

"I don't – not really - believe you're gone, Obi-Wan," Siri murmured softly, and beside her, Bant started.

"That's why Anakin isn't here – he says Obi-Wan isn't dead, too," she whispered. "Why do you believe that? I want to believe, but there's no point in lying to ourselves. We have to face that he's gone and let him go."

Before Siri could begin a response – how could she say her heart refused to believe what her mind did – Mace Windu stepped forward.

"We gather here to remember Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and to release our grief at his passing from this life to life forever in the Force. He died, as he lived, one of the finest examples of a Jedi that the Order has ever seen; the epitome of a Jedi and of a man. He died trying to save his enemies, for Master Kenobi honored life, no matter how insignificant or unworthy it might have seemed, learned this at the side of his master, Qui-Gon Jinn. His was the voice of reason, preferring words to the sword, to offering forgiveness when forgiveness seemed impossible. He was not without fault, for he was a man as well as a Jedi, but he was one of the finest men I ever knew. I am honored to have known him and to have sat in Council with him. He became a friend, and he will be missed. Now that he is one with the Force, he knows peace, and for that, I give thanks. Obi-Wan Kenobi has gone home."

Mace stepped back and Yoda opened his shuttered eyes, blinking sadly. "A finer man and a finer Jedi I knew not, though others his equal are. Wise for one so young, his counsel I will miss. Died too young, he did. Died a Jedi, he did. A finer death could no Jedi have, than to die trying to save others, enemy though they were, for to Obi-Wan, no man or being was an enemy forever. Hoped for the best he did, prepared for the worst. For peace he fought, for peace he lived, and for peace he died. In the Force now he is, found his peace at last he has."

Bant, Garen and Reeft all stepped forward and said their goodbyes to their friend, but Siri could not. She just shook her head when all eyes turned to her; finally, she pressed her lips together and stood with head bowed for a minute. When she looked up, few could tell she blinked back tears.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi taught me a lesson his own master once taught him – after many attempts – look closely and you will see that which is not obvious. All life has its own beauty and purpose; sometimes we just have to look within ourselves to see what appears hidden in others. We were nothing but competitors until a mission where I learned to see beyond the duty-bound, rule-obeying padawan to see how passionate he was to duty, not just rules. The rules were the framework, but his dedication was not to the rules, but to the Force. His faith in the Force strengthened with each year. His trust in and reliance on it was utter and complete, and so now I have to take his faith for mine, and have faith the Force did the right thing. It must have needed him. Goodbye my friend."

"Senator Amidala is here as a representative of the Senate," Mace said, nodding for Padmé Amidala to step forward. Clasped within one elegantly gloved hand, she was holding a single long stemmed flower brought in from Naboo, with sprigs of Haleothe entwined with it, and Siri caught her breath. Master Yoda, too, had known Obi-Wan's attachment to the vine and what it meant to him, and told the Senator.

The simple bouquet spoke more eloquently than the extravagant wreaths and bouquets against the wall. The Naboo rose: loosely coiled petals of deep rose brushed with highlights of rich cream and yellow the color of a golden sunset, set in a bed of glossy veined green with the delicate small clouds that were the flowers of the Haleothe vine.

She bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up, the senator showed the composure of one who had spent years in the public eye, but her grief was apparent in the Force and the red rimming her eyes. Among the brown and tan cloaks, her formal finery stood out, subdued though the color was.

"As representative of the Chancellor and the Senate, I am here to honor this man, this Jedi, who has fallen in service of our Republic. On their behalf, on my behalf, I thank you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You stood against oppression, you stood for democracy, and you stood for freedom.

"On a personal note, I owe a debt of gratitude to Master Kenobi. Years ago, Padawan Kenobi and Master Jinn helped save my planet. My people had been forced into occupation camps and many Naboo died. With the help of two Jedi, most were freed to live happy lives. Naboo thrives, because of them. Master Jinn died there, and now my friend Master Kenobi has died in the service of the Republic, in the service of peace, on another planet far from here.

"Many sentients deserve the title of hero and the gratitude of the Republic, some receive it without cause and some go unnoticed. Many earned their acclaim. I proclaim now that Obi-Wan Kenobi was one of those heroes. Obi-Wan Kenobi fought and he killed, but he fought always for peace. He hated war, but he was a warrior. He fought in the cause of peace, knowing that peace was worth the fight, the pain, and the sacrifices. He was a kind and gentle man as well as a noble and great Jedi. He earned my personal gratitude years ago and I was proud to call him a good friend. I call him hero now; a fallen hero who will never be forgotten. You are missed, my dear friend."

Padmé stepped forward and laid the flowers on the pyre. She brushed her finger tips against her lips and then touched them to the flowers as she murmured a private goodbye that no one heard, but her eyes glimmered with tears. The surrounding Jedi showed no such grief, but they understood it within their hearts.

Mace stepped over to a small stand and lifted a lightsaber into his hands and offered it hilt first to Garen Muln, as Obi-Wan's oldest friend. It was Qui-Gon's lightsaber, kept all these years by Obi-Wan. He had used it for several years, but the lightsaber never really fit his hand and he had made another, placing this aside in a place of honor. It was, perhaps, his most cherished item.

With a muscle twitching in his jaw, Garen ignited the blade, its emerald color glowing in the somber dusk of a stormy evening. He looked to Bant, Reeft and Siri and his silent gesture asked they join hands on the hilt as he touched it to the pyre. A waft of smoke preceded the first flame and soon the pyre was ablaze.

Outside the chamber, the setting sun found an opening and its light stretched through clouds and found its way through the embrasures to add its light to the pyre. Light and fire danced intertwined over the all but empty pyre. Shifting light: shades of blue and yellow, deepened into reds and oranges as the flames reached upwards finding nothing but a single Naboo rose wound with Haleothe. Unseen within the twists was tucked a commemorative Naboo coin.

After Naboo had been freed from occupation, a series of such had been commissioned. This one showed two Jedi in three quarter profile holding upright lightsabers; the wording stamped on the reverse said: Naboo Liberation: Two Heroes of the Jedi Order Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi along with the year. It was one of a series of four issued: Queen Amidala; "Hero of Naboo," Anakin Skywalker; the Naboo citizenry, and; the two Jedi.

Tears glistened on Didi Ono's face; his daughter had her face buried in her father's shoulder while Dex swiped a big hand across his face. They were about the only ones to show the emotion, but the flames caught and reflected glints of moisture in far more eyes.

Emotions were no less heart felt for being concealed, for Jedi held their emotions within, not given public display. They mourned the loss of a companion, a friend, and a colleague, and they would release the grief and move forward as their training commanded.

The Jedi had said goodbye. Obi-Wan Kenobi was officially dead.

On Jabiim, it was nighttime. Rain was pelting against tent walls, great sheets of water cascading down and overflowing the trenches dug around the tents. Those Jedi not on duty were gathered together, their thoughts focused on the funeral on Coruscant half way across the galaxy. Anakin Skywalker was not with them, to no Jedi's surprise. A meaningless sham, he had snarled, refusing to participate. Obi-Wan Kenobi was best honored by finding him, not mouthing words about him; he had flung and stalked off when the Council's announcement of Obi-Wan's formal listing as dead was received.

Anakin paced his tent, angry, hurt and confused. He had nothing to go on: no clues, no indication other than his feeling, that Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive. How, he didn't know. Obi-Wan had certainly been near the blast, if not in the midst of it. He was not a known survivor, and that left only the certainty that he was one of those whose remains were unidentifiable and scattered.

But the bond still existed. It trailed off into nothingness, but it existed. Even if otherwise destroyed, the power core of Obi-Wan's lightsaber should have been found, fused and warped but recognizable. This proved that the rest of the evidence was wrong, but no one would listen. No one would go to Obi-Wan's rescue, because if he was alive, he was certainly in need of rescue, in the hands of someone who held him incommunicado, cut off from the Force.

Orders or not, Anakin might have gone after Obi-Wan, but nothing guided him to a place, to knowledge of what he should do. Knowing his master was alive did not help him find him, and it rankled deep.

"Oh, Master, please – I do believe you're alive," he buried his head in his hands as he dropped to his cot. "I would come after you if I just knew where to go. I promise, I will find you somehow and bring you home."

On a planet equidistant from Coruscant and Jabiim, a prisoner writhed in pain, wanting nothing more than to die, fighting with all his might to survive.


	5. There is no Hell Yet I Have Found It

Fortuitous timing saved Obi-Wan and Alpha.

Fortuitous timing gave them both to Asajj Ventress.

Obi-Wan didn't believe in luck, but it was pure coincidence that Asajj recognized him and saved him just at the very moment that kept him alive, just when he had carried some of the wounded to the periphery of the blast. He had drawn heavily on the Force to shield himself from the pain of the wounded, to give him added strength and speed to rescue as many as he could while there was time.

Such a pull on the Force was draining, especially for a man who had had little sleep in the last week. It had quickly become apparent, within a day or two of arrival, that the Republic forces would be fighting in conditions they were not equipped for, their heavy equipment likely to get stuck in the soggy ground. With atmospheric conditions limiting air support, Obi-Wan had known this was a battlefield the Republic was poorly prepared for. He had expressed his concerns rather vocally and been told to do his best with the equipment he had.

_Do your best_. He had pressed his lips together to avoid saying something he would regret and let his anger drain into the Force. _Do your best_ would take more lives than necessary. _Do your best_ doomed many who might otherwise live.

So Obi-Wan had spent subsequent nights alone and with his commanders, trying to come up with adaptations to equipment and tactics, each long evening following wearying days spent in actual battle. Before collapsing onto his bed long past the midnight hour, almost too weary to sleep, he still took a few precious minutes away from a well-earned rest to mourn the daily loss of life. There was no other time, certainly not during actual battle to do so.

The general, the Jedi and the man - all that which combined to make Obi-Wan Kenobi – found refuge in meditation: let the Force soothe the grief for having both taking and seeing the taking of life. No Jedi liked dealing in death, yet as tacticians and warriors, they were directly responsible for the deaths of many, on both sides. Jedi were not meant for war, Obi-Wan had realized early on. Jedi had no choice; their duty commanded them to protect the Republic, but he wondered what would be the ultimate cost to the Order. Only time would tell.

In only a week's time, Coruscant was already another lifetime away, leave but a distant memory, and a good night's sleep something from a dim past.

Not unexpectedly, the terrain and a mechanical break down stranded one of their AT-ATs. Before it could be repaired and recovered, or destroyed to keep it out of the hands of the other side, it was repaired and being used against them. Republic fire had finally brought it down and lives hung in the balance: its occupants no longer combatants, but victims about to be incinerated. General Kenobi had not hesitated.

"Follow me!" Those few near him ran with him, right into the heart of what would soon be an inferno. The Force ripped open the twisted and half-melted hatch and Obi-Wan was the first to clamber in. He threw injured into waiting arms, grabbed two and threw one over each shoulder with a prodigious pull on the Force and staggered a fair distance away.

"There's more injured," he shouted, sliding the men to the ground and straightening up.

When the Force had shrilled with sudden alarm Obi-Wan had thought the warning was of the imminent explosion, and he meant to plunge back into the wreckage one last time.

At that moment Alpha tackled him, his armor striking Obi-Wan in the back of the head as the shock wave hit, his armor partially shielding him from the debris that rained down on them. Several pieces had struck the Jedi, jagged and half-molten edges piercing deep into his back and one leg as his cloak smoldered and burst into flames.

A "whoosh" escaped his compressed lungs as he slammed into the ground. He struggled for air and inhaled the liquid mud; choked. Only vaguely understanding that the heavy object flattening him was an armored clonetrooper trying to smother the flames licking at his general's clothing, he had soon passed out.

Asajj had pulled them clear of the conflagration with a mighty heave of the Force, getting two men for one. He remembered almost nothing of this; Alpha had told him through hiccupping coughs from smoke inhalation only as he half awoke in the transport before Asajj had come to gloat over her prisoners.

"Don't…don't feel…too good," he mumbled. The words sounded faint and slurred, even to him.

"General…general, sir," the voice was softly insistent, quietly imploring. "I know you're alive, general, wake up. Dead men don't bleed."

He had mumbled something; cracked an eye open to see Alpha grinning at him in relief.

"Force, I feel terrible," he had muttered. "Alpha – are you okay?"

"Alive, like you, general."

"At the moment I'm not so sure that is a good thing," he whispered, and lapsed back to unconsciousness, willing himself to rest and heal since he was clearly no longer on a flaming battlefield. He never registered that he was not in a med tent either, but thrown roughly onto a hard, cold floor – the deck of a ship carrying him to an unknown and far from pleasant destination.

Somewhere amidst all that, Obi-Wan vaguely remembered a feeling of doom: of seeing evil, hearing evil, feeling evil around him – of whispering a name, of a glimmer of knowledge of what had happened to him, even fear, but that memory had fled, elusive and fleeting.

_Head is throbbing…swear my nerves are crawling…think my very veins want to jump out of my body and go screaming off into the night…I wonder if I can drag myself to the med tent? _

"_An'kin…help…sick…," _but Anakin didn't come_. "N…need you. Don't feel – good." _

It had finally happened. After all the miserable planets they'd been on and the awful conditions they faced, some parasite or bacterium must have gotten to him. Some rain slug or microbe was trying to kill Jedi, and doing a pretty good job of killing this one, as far Obi-Wan was concerned.

He tried to crank his eyes open, but it hurt too much.

"I don't feel so good." He thought he had muttered those words before this. It seemed he had been hurting for a long while now, with no hope of that changing anytime soon. It was hard to remember a time when that was not the case.

"Welcome back to the living, general."

He knew that voice. It was raspier than normal and held an uncharacteristic air of relief. Odd, that he couldn't place the voice, but it did sound like it was coming from a long way away, the words bouncing around inside his skull. Suddenly the memory snapped into place as Obi-Wan took a deep breath and the rampaging herd of Banthas in his skull turned into a single Bantha calf.

"Alpha? Didn't I already hear…you say…that?" He really wished he had a free hand to rub his temple. What was a Bantha doing in his head – or dancing on his leg, for that matter – no, he hurt everywhere. _What the blazes is going on?_

"Close enough. General, snap out of it – do you remember anything?"

"Vaguely." Obi-Wan searched his memories, wincing at the effort it took to think. "Heat…yes – you blind-sided me, Alpha! Your helmet," he coughed, and frowned at the sound, "cracked my skull. I think. Something did." The tone was more amused than accusatory, for Alpha would have flattened his general only for good reason.

"That was some time ago. Remember Jabiim? We're not there anymore."

"Oh, dear." He wetted his tongue and tried to call on the Force for assistance. It was sluggish in responding, but it started to banish some of the worst of the aches and pains.

The Jedi did his best to steady himself, considering he had very little freedom of movement. His eyes were now open but blurry and still trying to focus; his mind was no better.

"Oh, yes…," and disjointed memories began running through his mind.

_Rain, always rain…battles, deaths…kissing someone (?) …running…an explosion… Ventress! "Your poor injured leg," mock sympathy on that hard face as her sharp-pointed boot smashed the shrapnel deeper into his flesh…before it turned against even more tender flesh…and then the blow he didn't see coming…. _

"Oh, dear Force, yes…" It was coming back; it wasn't a bad dream, not at all. He rather wished it was; a bad dream he could wake from. Instead, he was waking up to find that a bad dream was instead most probably going to be a nightmare.

There was by now no doubt in Obi-Wan's mind that he was a prisoner; the very smell of this place – physical and that revealed by the Force – was of menace. Not just a sense of the many dead that had inhabited this place, though he could sense that, too.

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

_Not on Jabiim where for once I wish I was_…but he didn't say that aloud.

Obligingly, Obi-Wan considered it, stretching out with every sense he had and almost recoiling. He could feel the blood drain to his toes at the flood of impressions coming at him.

"Force, no. Those poor, tortured souls."

He had only faced such an overwhelming emotional overload once before and it had haunted him for several nights. Qui-Gon had guided him through it then. There was only one way to deal with it: face it and take its measure. From knowledge came strength.

_Pain…despair…depravity_…the air breathed of his predecessors in that place. The place stank and his blood slowed within his veins, thick with frost and chunks of ice formed by old and unseen horrors, haunted by tormented ghosts of the past.

A chill hung in the air, and it was more than the chill of cool temperatures. It was the chill of living death, of suffering without hope, of knowledge that the only peace a prisoner would find would be in the quickness of one's death.

A touch of ice tingled up the Jedi's spine and tried to take root in his brain. He had just realized where he was.

Hell.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had found Hell. Jedi didn't believe in such concepts, for them there was only the Force. Hell in myths was a place for the damned after death. This Hell, however, was for the still living.

He had only just arrived here; only fought the echoes of others' pain. Soon, he knew, his pain, Alpha's pain, would just be added to that which lay heavy and thick there already. Whatever pain he felt now was nothing; it would only get worse.

Clones didn't have weak nerves, bad feelings, or hunches, but Alpha shivered at the Jedi's soft protest, for it was not a declaration, but a blank exclamation, quickly bitten back, horrific more for the shocked whisper that delivered it and the silence that followed.

"What is it? Where are we?" he matched his tone to Obi-Wan's, bleak and flat.

It was a long moment before his general spoke.

"Where evil reigns and the suffering of untold generations is chained. It's their tomb, Alpha, where the souls of the damned are forever trapped, unable to find peace. The Force itself cringes, unable to release them."

In the silence that then fell, even Alpha felt the brush of horror touch him. In the faint light, he couldn't see the silent tears that squeezed from under the Jedi's eyelids as he listened to the blood-curdling cries only he could hear.


	6. Take My Point, Kenobi

_Hell_, his general had told him. Alpha found it hard to reconcile the common notion of Hell with this cell, but then clones didn't have much imagination. Compared to Jabiim, it was a dry haven with no water pouring from above, which was a pleasant change. Food was irregular, but meals were erratic during battle, too, and the slop they were given was little different other than in texture from field rations.

Jabiim, though, offered cots and warm blankets to ward off the damp chill, while here there was nothing but stone floors to sit or lay on, nothing to warm their bones or cushion their heads.

Hell, Alpha decided, must be what the Jedi sensed was ahead for them, for this was certainly not Hell, and no souls of the damned or tormented kept them company as far as he was aware.

For now, only the clone trooper and Jedi kept company. Why they had been all but ignored, considering the trouble Asajj had gone to capture them and her delight in capturing Kenobi, eluded Alpha. She had certainly not hesitated to gloat over her captives and rough up the Jedi on the way to wherever this was. Once here and unceremoniously dumped, they had been left alone.

Each time food was brought, the door would swing open and let in a shaft of light that spread out like the finger of light cast by a rising moon across a vast sea. A rough tray would be placed on the floor with a bowl of water; a foot sending the tray careening towards the captives without concern if the chained captives could even reach it. The last time, Obi-Wan's tray had looked untouched. Either the Jedi had not been able to reach it, or had ignored it.

"My apologies, Alpha. I'm afraid I'm not of much use to either of us right now." Obi-Wan's calm voice broke the quiet that had settled between them. He sighed and there was a rustling as if he shifted position. Alpha's eyes focused on the sound.

"I've tried to access the Force, to meditate, but I am having trouble; the Force is eluding me. I believe one of those pieces of metal that got me was either contaminated with something from the mud you splashed us into or perhaps it was mere happenstance that one of the wounds got infected. I alternate between sweating and feeling chilled, my head pounds – in short, I'm running a fever and seem unable to bring it down, and it is interfering with my ability to access the Force to try to free us. I must apologize, Alpha."

The words were clipped and a bit breathless, an attempt to camouflage weakness, Apha understood. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to pierce the dim light. The Jedi was leaning against a wall for support and his eyes seemed to be closed.

Each of them were bound legs together, hands together behind their backs with a length of chain constraining their movement so that all they could do was sit or stand. Neither could approach the other close enough to touch, in fact they were rather a fair distance apart so it was hard to make out the other's face or position.

Alpha looked at his own chained limbs and shook his head in wonder. "Do you expect yourself to be some kind of miracle worker, general? You human Jedi are, after all, human."

'Ah, our secret is revealed." The Jedi paused, when he resumed speaking, his voice was

rough as if he no longer tried to hide his weakness.

"No, nor are we infallible, I'm afraid, but I should not be in such a state so early in our captivity. Were I well enough, I would hope to have the strength to find our escape and prevent us from feeling as I do now – or even worse. I do not see gentle treatment ahead for us."

"Then your padawan shall just have to arrive soon."

"Anakin. Yes. Yes, you are right. He will be on our tail and gloating over another daring rescue of his poor master, whose reputation has not yet been shattered to shreds by the number of his predicaments requiring rescue."

"Who puts you in those predicaments, sir? I believe he does, just so he can notch another rescue on his belt."

"Indeed." A chuckle spilled into the air, before silence again fell.

In the months they had served together, Alpha had developed a respect for the Jedi general he felt for few others. Kenobi was no fool. He could act quickly when required by circumstance but he never acted rashly or without thought of the consequences. He did not hesitate to order a squad or platoon onto a suicidal mission while calmly taking advantage of the diversion to wrest victory, yet all the while grieving those whose deaths lay heavy on his conscience.

It was not mere safeguarding of his troops, Alpha had discovered, it was genuine regret for the waste of life. His men, clones or not, were not mere pawns to him, pieces to be sacrificed without thought for the goal of securing victory. Kenobi valued life, and mourned whenever it was lost or sacrificed.

Yet, unlike some commanders, rarely was his general to be found anywhere but in the thick of battle, a whirling blur of motion that wasted no movement and allowed no quarter. The Jedi was a deadly foe to those who opposed him in battle, yet a fallen combatant was no longer his foe once disarmed. Jedi and their inconvenient ideals had gotten in the way of reducing enemy ranks several times; Alpha still remembered the Jedi's shocked response to one comment of his:

_Not an enemy, Alpha, it is difficult to make one who is your enemy a friend. It is possible to do so with an opponent. No sentient is my enemy and if I ever forget that, may I die in combat that very minute._

_You would not grant yourself forgiveness, though you grant it to others readily?_

_Point – considered. Then… perhaps I should leave my fate to the Force, even as I do now…._

Then, at battle's end, while weary troops rested and ate, General Kenobi always made his rounds, visiting the wounded and weary before his meal, sometimes nursing a wound or two of his own before seeing to his own rest and comfort.

Ill, injured, captive, even now, the Jedi's concern was for his companion.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker was deeply troubled. 

Part of him wanted to cry, let great tears of pain and anger slid down his cheeks in rhythm with the fall of sheeting rain the other side of the tent, and to let his unleashed tears pool in the hands supporting his face as the rain pooled in depressions outside.

Part of him wanted to scream in frustration and anger. I know you need me, Master. I want to come after you, but I cannot. I – cannot.

Part of him wanted just to be numb. To forget everything and to no longer feel anything, so he would know peace.

Other than allowing him to contact the Council with the news of Obi-Wan's death – he still refused to acknowledge it as such, at least to himself – he had been commanded to stay in the med tent for "observation." They all thought the pain of his supposedly severed bond had affected his mind, made him deny his master's death, to clutch upon his delusions despite any evidence to the contrary.

Granted only the freedom of the medical unit, Anakin had done as he had observed Obi-Wan do, for now the task fell to him: console the wounded. From one bedside to the other he moved, laying a hand on a shoulder or exchanging the occasional pleasantry.

"Where's the general, sir?" one clone asked, half sitting up one elbow. He was swathed in bandages, looking much like the patients in the beds nearby. The only way to distinguish one clone from another was by the wounds or bandages.

When armored, standing tall and straight as they marched in or out of transports, the identical ranks had not bothered Anakin. They were troops. Here, lying in beds, craggy faces only varying by scars and relative ages, they seemed individuals – identical individuals, and it was no longer so easy to dismiss them as "just clones."

"He's coming," Anakin answered, spying General Norcuna coming through the doorway. The clone looked that direction and back at Anakin.

"No, sir. I mean 'the' general."

"The general is - oh." Anakin found that he was stammering. Obi-Wan – the clone meant Obi-Wan. He wished he knew just where he was; he would be on the way there. "He's – General Kenobi is – he's unable to be here now."

"Finally collapsed from overwork and too little sleep and sent you in his stead? When you see him next, sir, tell him we appreciate what he's doing, but he's more valuable to us awake than dead with exhaustion, so we expect him to rest once in a while, let some of you other commanders take some of the burden off his shoulders."

"I agree," the clone in the next bed added. "We're replaceable, but the general isn't. His duty is to help win this war by winning battles, not by worrying about how many clones he is losing."

Uncertainty and fear for his master made the young padawan close his eyes to hide his anguish. He had no idea what to say to these wounded or how to console his own wounds.

_Master – hang on. They need you almost as much as I do. Hang on until I find you._

* * *

With a groan of protest as if it, too, admitted its dislike of its environment, the cell door opened to admit Ventress and her second in command, Aidus. Physically, Aidus looked the more dangerous of the two, taller and broader than the woman following, but Aidus was merely a battle-hardened man, of average intelligence and brute power. 

Ventress was more imposing because of her attitude: casual and cruel. Hatred oozed from her pores and blazed from her eyes, even to such a practical figure as the clone trooper eying them both. Bald, curvaceous enough not to be mistaken for a man with full red lips, she would have been a striking woman minus the malevolent air she exuded.

Without ceremony, Aidus dropped a flaming torch into a wall bracket and stood with arms crossed over his beefy chest as Asajj boldly strode in, eyes alight with anticipation. Her eyes suddenly narrowed at the sight before her; growled deep within her throat.

Light and shadow mingled, flickering in and out of corners. In its light, Alpha could see his general more clearly now, covered in a faint sheen of sweat, lying half huddled in a corner and blinking as if a bright light was shining directly into his eyes. His hair wetly clung to his face; his tunics were stained, and Alpha's concern spiked.

Asajj stopped short; a boot tip prodded the prone man. A soft laugh of derision escaped her as he failed to react.

"General, we've got company." Alpha hoped the words reached Obi-Wan, but the Jedi merely muttered something unintelligible.

"Well, already had more than you can stand, Obi-Wan? You are weak, Kenobi, as I've argued all along." Ventress stood over him, open scorn in her voice. "Weak, the Jedi are weak, as you are proving, Obi-Wan."

"He's not well," Alpha spoke up in defense of the man. His muscles bunched with his need to stand protectively before his general, but the only defense he could offer was words. Words were not his weapon, though; they were the weapons of a man in no shape to form them.

"What ails him, clone?"

"Ask a healer, but I believe one of his wounds is infected and causing a fever. I take lives, I heal none. I would take yours if I could and not bat an eye."

Ventress turned from her contemplation of the Jedi to take her measure of the clone. After a moment, she nodded, pleased.

"I understand men such as you. You are strong and I shall take pleasure in extricating information from you. Jedi, especially this one – they're soft. They regret taking lives. They weep in their hearts for the dead. What he who I wish to become my master sees in him – I do not understand his fascination with Kenobi, but it will end here."

She whirled and dropped to a knee beside the shivering Jedi and lightly touched his head, pointed fingernails scratching along his sweat-dampened skin. She rolled him over with an indelicate prod of her foot and crouched beside him, running her hands over his body, stopping when a low moan interrupted her scrutiny.

"I see," she murmured to herself. "Cheat me, you will not, Kenobi. I will have my pleasure with you."

"Pull him upright," she commanded Aidus, and the man hauled the unresisting Obi-Wan to his feet in one smooth jerk, one hand clenched on the Jedi's shoulder as he swayed in Aidus' grip with a slow blink of his eyes the only reaction. "I want him to suffer at my hands, not the whims of fate. He is no good to me sick."

With a wicked grin of anticipation on her face, Ventress moved behind the Jedi and threw a look at Aidus that brought an answering grin in return. "I shall enjoy this. Take this as a token of my regard, Obi-Wan."

Cody tensed as a gurgled scream broke the air. Ventress stepped back with a triumphant smile and a knife held aloft, dripping.

The Jedi's body hit the ground with a sickening thud.


	7. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

"Pack your master's things, Padawan, ready to ship back to the Temple." With those words, Anakin knew the Jedi would never believe that Obi-Wan was alive. The words had not been said unkindly, but the Jedi had made up their minds. They had condemned one of their best and brightest to certain death and suffering, and in so doing, condemned the padawan also.

_Damn them all_! His master deserved better of his fellow Jedi. He deserved better of his padawan. He deserved to be searched for, found, and rescued, yet he was only a statistic.

Missing in action! Anakin supposed it was a concession to him, perhaps the Council had not decided to declare Obi-Wan Kenobi dead for some political reason – if that were so, the knowledge of that alone would kill his master, considering Obi-Wan's fondness for politics and politicians.

Apparently several days of medical observation had convinced everyone that Anakin was deluded but not delusional; he was to be allowed to return to duty. The cynical side of him figured that they needed Anakin Skywalker: the tide of battle had been turning in the last several days minus Kenobi-Skywalker, the famed Jedi duo. Obi-Wan would call it pride and reprimand him for the thought; Anakin knew it was the simple truth. His master's refusal to stand up for himself and his padawan, his acceptance of the dictates of the Council, and his deference to others he considered possibly his betters, certainly his equals, only impeded what might have a speedier resolution to the war.

Inwardly fuming, thankful to be away from prying eyes, Anakin returned to his tent, the one he shared with Obi-Wan, faced with the knowledge that this night no light would burn at the far end of the tent as his master wrestled with adapting to the circumstances he faced. He would not feel the Force being drawn around the man as he sought release from the day's stresses by submerging himself into its comfort for a few moments of intense meditation. He would not feel the soft peace that Obi-Wan would then find in sleep, granted a few precious hours without pressures or dreams to disturb his richly deserved rest.

Dreams and nightmares were for the padawan: of nights with Padme, dreams that brought him awake with scowls when there was no one in his arms or bed; nightmares, that found him awakening with his master's touch to his forehead and a sense of trembling relief that the dreams were vanished with the gray light of day.

His nights were certain now to be haunted by nightmares; long nights of loss and grief, trapped in a cage not of his making but one from which he was powerless to escape.

Tonight, especially tonight, his first back, was going to be a long night, a long night of trembling silence when usually there was the sound of light, even breathing, a night when the sound of his own heartbeat would be too loud to allow sleep.

Anakin could barely remember the last night he had slept alone, with no one breathing near or beside him…when at the Temple, he snuck out almost every night to be with his wife. Padme, dear, sweet, loving Padme of soft lips and welcoming arms, his dear, darling angel - and Anakin suddenly knew how to banish the silence of Obi-Wan's absence.

Without his master nearby, he was free to dream of Padme, of nights spent in her arms, indulge in dreams without restraint and tight shields, able to give voice to the sound of their passion.

For the first time in his life, Anakin understood what his master meant about finding a ray of hope in the darkest of circumstances, joy amidst pain, or of happiness amidst sorrow. He hadn't understood when Obi-Wan first spoke such a thing, probably only a week or so after they had returned to the Temple. Obi-Wan had still been mourning Qui-Gon and he had still been a bit in awe, a bit scared, and a bit awkward amongst so many strangers.

The dutiful padawan would do as commanded; he made his master disappear from all but memory.

Anakin packed his master's few personal possessions – a spare cloak, several changes of clothing, and a small engraved case holding miscellaneous spare parts and a small repair kit. _O-W K. Q-G J_. The case had been a present from Qui-Gon when his padawan became a senior padawan. The next achievement was knighthood, now closer than ever, even if still years away.

Obi-Wan prized it highly: not for its intrinsic value but its symbolic value as a visible sign of his master's approval and affection at a time it had not been in doubt. It would accompany Anakin back to the Temple; he made sure it would not be left behind by tucking it within his belt.

It had taken only moments to remove all signs of Obi-Wan's presence, and that's when reality punched Anakin in the gut.

Obi-Wan was gone.

Not dead. He would argue that Obi-Wan was alive to his dying day. Obi-Wan was _missing_, and considering no one believed that fact, he was likely to remain _missing_ until he was truly gone, truly dead. Anakin could do nothing, boxed in by hard realities and painful awareness of his choices.

In that first week, the Republic had taken three outposts, faced only with those Jabiimi siding with Alto Stratus and his coup deposing the pro-Republic political leadership. They had encountered no battle droids nor seen signs of Confederacy support. Victory had seemed a slow, but certain outcome, for the civil war had been ongoing for some time in a near stalemate. The Republic forces were sure to swing the battle, it seemed.

Jabiim was too valuable a Republic planet to lose, its ores too important to the Republic and the Confederacy both. The world had been firmly aligned with the Republic, but the Republic's apparent failure to care or concern itself with an outbreak of brainrot plague, with invasion by the Trandoshans, or with Lythian pirate activity had inflamed anti-Republic sentiment and ultimately led to the political coup.

The Confederacy had promised aid and money to break away from the Republic, in return for access to its ores. It was welcomed by those who felt neglected and outcaste and the Jedi, once considered mere legendary beings rather than actual beings, were considered as heartless and uncaring as the Senate that refused to act – baby snatchers as well, beings who were just as much killers as the fighters themselves.

Outright civil war and the fear of losing the ore deposits had sent the Republic to Jabiim, where few now welcomed it.

Ever since Obi-Wan's apparent death, the Republic had lost ground, lost outposts, and most importantly, seemed even further away from capturing Alto Stratus. Capture the leader, end the battle, was the thought in everyone's mind, but Stratus was proving elusive.

The thought was no less true for Anakin, but it did not crowd out his anger and desperation. He had rarely been so torn in two. Orders and duty could not keep him from rushing off to find and bring his master back, but what orders and duty could not do, loyalty and need could.

Obi-Wan needed him.

He was needed on Jabiim. That was just as certain. He was not the senior padawan in what had been dubbed the "Padawan Pack," padawans orphaned by battle. None of them were children anymore, regardless of age. None had Anakin's experience in battle, so they all deferred to him as if he was the most senior in rank amongst them. He was also given respect out of respect to his fallen master – Master Kenobi had been well regarded by them all and his padawan was, by extension, granted the same regard.

Before turning in for the night, Anakin buried himself in his cloak to stave off the persistent rain and idly wandered around the camp. He had no tears for his master to shed, not at this date, but had he had any, they would have been excused as rain drops. Should he give in to tears, it would be outside where they would be hidden, he resolved.

"Anakin, wait, I'll walk with you."

Anakin was pulled out of his thoughts by the padawan's call and his head snapped up and around. "If you don't mind, Aubrie, I would rather be alone."

"That's what we all said and thought we meant." There was sympathy, but no pity in her brown eyes. "I'll be silent if you want, but it's nice to have someone standing at your side."

"Okay," Anakin answered. He was reluctant, but perhaps having lost her own master, Aubrie would not shower him with pity. He couldn't handle that.

They made a circuit in silence, the squishing of their boots the only sound other than the sound of the rain pattering against anything it touched. From out of the dimness, a soft voice said softly, "Tears falleth like rain from the Heavens." When Anakin turned to look, Aubrie was looking up at the sky as rain sheeted over her face. She didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sorry – what did you say?" Anakin wasn't certain what he had heard.

Aubrie looked embarrassed. "Just a saying – that seems so true. I couldn't stop crying when my master was killed. The more I tried to hide my tears inside, the harder they fell, so I would go outside where no one would see. It seemed the Force was crying right along with me, so I, well, didn't feel quite so alone. Is that why you are out here, feeling the Force's tears?"

"Uh, no." Anakin suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He wasn't the first padawan to lose – missing-lost, not dead-lost – his master. "No, I don't cry for my master. He's not dead – not to me. I miss him more than I ever thought I would, though. I guess one kind of gets used to having one master's always around, and when he's gone – you suddenly notice that something you've always taken for granted is gone. I didn't expect to feel this – hollow spot inside."

"Yeah. Mind if I ask you something?" Aubrie waited for Anakin's nod and she drew her cloak tighter around her. "They say that your master and his made one of the strongest master-padawan teams seen in years, that they could actually talk to each other through the bond, and that you two could do the same. Could you?"

"Yes, not right at first, though. It sure makes you work on your shields – I got a mental swat through the bond more than once when I – ah – let's just say Master Obi-Wan wasn't pleased with what I was thinking and also saying over the bond about the Council or some such. It was more of a curse than a blessing in the early days. Why, couldn't you and your master?"

"No, not conversations and things – mainly impressions, emotions, that kind of stuff. They say that the ability to actual converse is very rare and is a sign of a really strong bond that isn't often seen. That's why severing such a bond is so painful."

"I suppose." Since his bond with Obi-Wan was merely dormant, not severed, Anakin shrugged off the comment. "They asked me to pack up his things earlier. It's funny how little a Jedi has to leave behind when he's gone."

"I know. Do you have a holocron of your master to return to the Temple?"

Anakin was startled from his thoughts and he frowned. Obi-Wan had laughed at the idea. He remembered the amusement in his master's voice as he had said, "I have no particular wisdom to leave for those who follow us. What I leave behind me as my legacy to future Jedi is you, my padawan, the Chosen One. If I am remembered at all, it will be for having been the one to train the best amongst us – assuming we both survive each other until the day you come into your own."

The words, as well as the warmth behind them, had stunned Anakin into stammering praises of his master's wisdom. In typical Obi-Wan fashion, the Jedi had brushed them off.

"What wisdom you hear from me is wisdom I learned from Yoda and my own master; I take no credit for they have taught me all that I know and it is their teachings I pass on to you."

It was not so simple as that: Obi-Wan had learned well but he had not become recognized as a great Jedi for his ability to repeat words he had been taught. Anakin recognized that, even when he disagreed with his master. Obi-Wan was far from being right all the time, in his padawan's opinion, but he could always make a case for his opinion that Anakin could not always rebut with words, and he was right far more often than many other Jedi in Anakin's limited experience. In fact, Anakin had adopted the conclusion that Obi-Wan was always right, except when they themselves disagreed.

"Yes, you are little more than a droid spouting platitudes and Jedi wisdom learned at its master's knees," he teased, pleased with the answering sparkle in his master's eyes, and quickly ducked away so that the descending hand could not tweak his padawan braid.

How he hated that tug and how he now missed it. He missed the hand dropped onto his shoulder with the little squeeze that always followed. He missed the tight grin when they were about to spring a trap, or the queasy look in Obi-Wan's eyes when Anakin was piloting.

All he said to Aubrie in return was a simple no. All that Obi-Wan had left behind for the moment was memories and lessons.

"We all mourn him, Anakin."

"Of course." He said it automatically and Aubrie gave him a sharp look.

"Anakin, we all miss our masters very much. Every single one of us knows how you feel. But we all mourn Obi-Wan, too. He taught us all at one time or another, in class, on the field. Your grief is far greater than ours; we know that, but know that you are not alone in grieving for your master as we are with the loss of our own. We grieve together."

"I do not mourn him as you do, Aubrie. You don't mourn what is not dead. My master is alive, Aubrie, alive. What I mourn is being stuck here, unable to save him. Why can't I save him?"

"Let him go, Anakin. Let him be at peace in the Force," Aubrie entreated.

"He'll be at peace in the Force only if I let him die. I won't let that happen. I also know he won't know any peace until he is rescued. He is suffering, Aubrie, because if he's alive, he's in pain and suffering and I – I only know he's alive, but not where he is. It's tearing me apart. You wouldn't understand – your master is dead. Mine will be if I don't get to him."

He wheeled and stalked off, not seeing Aubrie's stricken face, all of his frustration and pent-up anger spilling forth in a burst of words. He had to go where the merest trace of his master lingered, the closest to consolation he would find on Jabiim.

"I miss you, Master," he said, dropping onto his cot. "Please stay alive until I can get to you. I can't bear to lose someone else I care for. I miss you popping into my mind and hinting that I behave myself or stop being so reckless. I want you at my side when I am finally knighted."

He got to his feet and started pacing, trying to burn off his frustrations.

He was alone. Even when Obi-Wan couldn't take away his pain, or totally ease his discomfort, he was always there at his side, his very presence reassuring the padawan that he was not alone, that his master was there if he wanted to reach out. _I'll always be here for you, you know that._

He wanted to reach out, now.

Obi-Wan was not there; he had lied.

_You lied to me, Obi-Wan! When I want you – you aren't here! _Anakin threw a datapad across the tent and flopped on his cot, face buried in his pillow. _Tell me where to go, what to do, Master. Help me find you! I don't want you to die._


	8. Silence of the Damned

Other than a faint rustle, a quiet moan from time to time, it was quiet. Moans, however, were good. They meant that Alpha was not alone, and while he did not fear that, he did fear for what that would mean should he not hear them. Moans meant Kenobi was still alive, the slow cessation of them meant he was recovering. Unfortunately, as Ventress had made all too clear, restored health would be no better for his general than before, when he had been sick and feverish: Ventress wanted the "pleasure" of reducing the Jedi to some pitiable wreck of a man.

It was a sentiment that Alpha could not understand, for people lived and people died, but needless suffering served no purpose. Enemy or fellow soldiers, if they were not outright killed in battle, their wounds were treated and health restored. Soldiers of the Republic returned to battle; Alpha supposed the former enemy combatants were housed in decent quarters and treated decently – quite decently, in fact – since the Jedi would allow nothing less.

It was not something he thought about, for rarely were the enemy sentient beings. Most of the opposition was droid armies, mere machines that could be destroyed with impunity.

Alpha's purpose was simple: carry out orders and protect his commanders, though as an ARC Trooper he was capable of independent thinking when it came to battle strategy. No emotion interfered with a clone's ability to carry out his duties, so Alpha was a bit surprised by his own reactions over the last few – he would call them days, not that one could tell – as he waited in silence for whatever would come. Not only waited, but hoped for his general's recovery, listened to see if he was indeed getting better.

He found he cared, beyond that required by his duty to protect. Adversity had bound the Jedi and the clone together; their fates looked to be entwined. Whether close proximity had been the ignition or not, his relief when he found Asajj Ventress had not killed his commander on the spot had been unexpected. Now, he waited for lucidity, torn between anticipation and regret.

For now, at least, this silence which was only broken by those low moans and harsh breathing was good, for silence meant that they were alone. When that silence was broken – well, no doubt the air would be sliced by screams not whispers of pain, not too unlike the one that had shattered the quiet when Ventress had last been within the cell.

Faintly, Alpha heard what he both dreaded and hoped for – a word from his general, a soft, "oh, dear" muttered in a surprised tone.

"Finally awake again, General?"

"Awake…uh…don't know…." The groggy whisper was music to Alpha's ears.

"Sir. How do you feel? Are you awake?" Hopefully he would get a coherent response shortly; his general was uttering words, not just mumbling.

"Wha…? Who?"

The Jedi's voice was beginning to sound stronger now. Despite what it portended, Alpha found it oddly reassuring. The "who?" seemed laced with a hint of humor, as if his general was trying to poke fun at himself. Trust the general, Alpha thought, to make fun of his confusion while still in that state.

There was a rustling sound and the soft clink of binders as Obi-Wan struggled to sit upright; a hiss of pain as his leg rubbed against the rough stone.

"Ventress." Alpha figured her name would help clear the fog.

"Ah. Yes." Obi-Wan blinked, peered through the shifting light cast by a sputtering torch. Alpha was a dim shadow across what appeared to be an underground cell of some kind. A soft sigh escaped him. "We keep having this same conversation, don't we?"

Even if he couldn't quite see Alpha's smile, the Jedi knew it was there when Alpha said, "At least you're remembering that. You were sick, and then you really took quite a crack on the head before we even got here, didn't you?"

"So it seems." There was a pause as he struggled to catch up to events. "How are you feeling?"

"Captive." Alpha waited for the Jedi's appreciative snort. "Your humor must be rubbing off on me, sir. You were rather feverish for a while; Ventress decided your leg wound was infected and she decided to drain it with a sharp knife. She took quite a delight in, ah, stabbing it in and twisting it."

That was when a strangled scream had made Alpha think the Jedi had died with a knife in his heart. He was certain when the thud of a body hitting stone followed, but Ventress had had the leg wound treated and drained, then had it covered with a bacta patch. Twice a guard had come in, dribbled some water on the Jedi's lips and checked the healing wound.

Casually, Alpha added, "It seems to have worked, though – too bad. I was hoping you'd wake up on a rescue ship. Ventress has been waiting for you to feel better so she can make you feel even worse. She didn't appreciate your not feeling well, not when it was not at her own hands. I do not understand why she wants to be responsible for reducing you from health to broken health, but she wants that pleasure. Her motives are unclear; she did not state her intentions towards us. They are unpleasant I am sure."

"Ah. Pity," a sigh followed. "I wonder why she hasn't killed us, or at least me. I suppose she will let us know, all within good time."

"I think she doesn't like you, for some reason."

"Then I shall have to try harder to amend the impression she has of me." There was a pause, and then worry colored the soft voice. "Have you been mistreated?"

"Only if you call being chained, ignored, and occasionally given something passing as food mistreated."

"That may seem a desirable condition later on." Neither man bothered to comment further, for both knew all too well what must lie ahead. "I don't seem to have a good grasp of everything that has happened since – well, Jabiim. I only remember bits and pieces of stuff. Would you fill me in on just what I missed?"

"Are you sure you want to know, general?"

A chuckle greeted Alpha's response. "Perhaps not. But it might prepare me for what will surely follow, and I would like to be clear on just what has happened so far. Knowledge is power; it might help us escape from here."

Starting with their kidnapping from Jabiim up until moments ago, Alpha caught the Jedi up on recent events, with very few interruptions for clarification.

_Where evil reigns and the suffering of untold generations is chained. It's their tomb, Alpha, where the souls of the damned are forever trapped, unable to find peace. The Force itself cringes, unable to release them. _

Obi-Wan knew he must have said that, if Alpha said he had. He even vaguely recalled whispering it. What had prompted him to say that? Whatever had spoken to him had fallen silent now; perhaps he could no longer hear.

Whether it was for the first time or not, Obi-Wan let his eyes wander and take measure of his situation. All he had was impressions in this eternal gloom, but the Force would shed some light once he accessed it. First he needed to clear his mind, so he did some breathing exercises and mind-focusing work until the fog clouding his mind evaporated to leave him more alert and more capable than when he had started.

What little light there was came from outside the door and from a recessed corner. There were no windows to the outside. Stone walls surrounded him, real stone, for there was a hint of moisture and decay that only came from natural stone, not duracrete. It was a clear indication that the structure was quite old, not unlike some sections of Coruscant he remembered from his youth.

Qui-Gon had taken him exploring as a young padawan through older, non-revitalized sectors of that city-planet, where the outcastes of society lived, fought, and preyed on others, yet others lived, loved and worked together.

"You need to see the good and bad of life," he had said matter-of-factly, dragging his padawan into numerous shady dives and taverns, into places of utter squalor where the living was by tooth and nail. Criminality reigned, but so did generosity, often side by side. Obi-Wan had come to see that the true lesson was that good and bad co-existed, in all kinds of places, and not to associate those with power or those without, as more or less worthy of respect.

He had not grasped the lesson at first, not naturally attuned to the Living Force at his age as well as being more in touch with the Unifying Force. With few experiences outside the Temple to broaden his knowledge and understanding of others, he had been slow to understand what Qui-Gon sought to show him and have him learn for himself.

By not accepting others as who they were, but as he saw them through the lens of his own youth, unwitting pre-conceptions and insecurities, he had put a barrier against the natural flow of the Living Force that only life, maturity, and guidance had tempered. That lack of natural understanding and sympathy had slowly dissolved as he learned how to see, not just look, and learned to accept himself as well as others.

_Pathetic life forms_: it had been his initial reaction to many, based on ignorance, later tempered by understanding. It was the unthinking epithet of a sheltered Jedi initiate first exposed to what seemed like society's forgotten and discarded beings.

It had come to mean something different in later years, an acknowledgement that what seemed unremarkable or lacking might instead harbor beauty or usefulness within and so one should not judge on appearances or first impressions: a clumsy Gungan who

provided the key to freeing the Naboo, a grubby street urchin who was now his padawan and well on the way to becoming a truly powerful Jedi.

Even he might have been considered such once, an angry and impulsive boy who battled his own insecurities while striving to be both be and seem worthwhile.

Qui-Gon had not taught him this, but allowed him to discover it on his own. It was a lesson that sank into his being more and more with each passing year.

And so he knew that good existed with the bad, kindness within evil, sympathy within the unsympathetic: he wondered what decency lay hidden within Ventress.

His gaze moved around the cell, observing without judging. There was a torch guttering in a wall stand opposite him, light flickering shadows into light, and light into shadows. It revealed nothing, too weak to reveal more than shifting patterns. He probed deeper, though the Force shied away from his less than delicate attempts to access it.

As he banished the last of the fog, Force-enhanced senses revealed far more, revealed the tortures of the damned, for damned had been those who had been here before. This was what he had begun to sense earlier before his senses had clouded with fever. He had sensed them, heard their screams in his mind.

He tried to relax deeper into the Force, but encountered a barrier. It almost seemed like the Force didn't want to reveal anything to him, either shielding him from something or not wanting to touch something itself, through him.

Obi-Wan let the Force slip to the edge of his awareness, then as delicately as possible he reached a tiny bit at a time, coaxing the Force to show him more, just a bit more, piece by piece. He probed deeper, _seeing_ splotches of bodily fluids, mainly blood, marking those who had preceded him, the stone stained from what had not evaporated. Sour smells filled his nostrils: residue of stale sweat and vomit, excrement and tears, all pungent products of bodies left to rot in their own fluids.

Gradually, a tiny sound itched at his ears. The silence, what little there was, was anything but silent, for to a Force sensitive who listened to it, it hung heavy with memories of suffering. The whispers swelled into a howling cyclone of dissipated pain, shrieks torn from those who had nothing else left. Screams of the dead lingered; had had nowhere to go, so in the air they had dissipated, another layer of pain.

It was all there: the sounds, the smells, the hopelessness, if one listened with one's heart not ears; only by truly listening could one truly hear.

Clinging to the molecules of the air, stale and heavy, Obi-Wan could sense the despair and pain of the tormented. It was overwhelming; with the power to bring a Jedi to his knees weeping for the lost, but no Jedi could afford to open himself to the assault, for such would not help the departed or those that now faced a similar fate.

Shivering with the onslaught against his senses, Obi-Wan quickly shielded himself from all but a surface awareness of it. Instead, he focused on his reality and a way of escape - but every time he tried to touch something to manipulate it, he was repelled. The dead did not want him to escape; the chains of their despair bound him as much as Ventress' chains.

A trickle of sweat slid down his spine as Obi-Wan realized just what he faced. Ventress was equally strong in the Force as he was at the moment; undistracted by pain, thirst and hunger as he was, she was able to interfere with his call on the Force even from a distance. His restraints were not just the bodily weakness of a man or the chains of his binders, but the restraints of the Force as well.

For the moment, there was but one thing to do. Wait. Wait for Anakin, wait for his strength to return, wait for the Force to reveal an answer.

Wait – and hope not to be the next tortured souls trapped within the walls for eternity.


	9. The Calm Before the Storm

With a shudder of revulsion and pity for those who came before and, in a sense, had never left, Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and blocked his awareness of his predecessors torment completely. As Qui-Gon Jinn would always say, focus on the here and now, and the pain of the past was just that – the past.

He needed to focus on the present if he was to have a future. A Jedi did not sit around waiting to be rescued if there was any possibility of saving himself. Rescues were greatly appreciated, of course, but his first thought as always was how to save himself and Alpha.

He rotated his head to stretch taut shoulder muscles, held too long in one position. The binders clasped his hands together behind his back, palms facing. He wiggled his hands experimentally, took a deep breath and tried to break them open with the Force. He wasn't surprised to fail. No doubt they were Force-resistant, but there were other means of exit. The locks, however, were also Force-shielded.

For the time being, at least, he gave up; turning his attention inward to take stock of his physical condition, for Force strength was at least partially dependent on the body's strength. Pain, injury and exhaustion weakened the connection, which he decided more than explained his inability to do much in his current circumstances.

Now that he gave attention to his physical well being, he realized he ached all over, not just in his shoulders and arms. Perhaps standing and moving around would loosen him up, so he slowly pulled himself to his feet, a bit surprised at how unsteady he felt.

"Good to see you up on your feet, general."

"Good to be standing," Obi-Wan returned, tentatively shifting weight onto and off his injured leg. "Painful, but good."

To his surprise, his clothing stiffly resisted the small movements, the usually comfortable and supple material feeling like a shell encasing him, almost like another layer of chains made of a thin coat of duracrete troweled over his entire body. He suddenly understood, shaking his head. It seemed that they had brought a fair amount of Jabiim with them, or more accurately, stuck on them. Perhaps like his padawan's complaints that it had taken months to rid himself of the dust and sand of Tatooine upon leaving that planet, it might take nearly as long as rid oneself of Jabiim's equally obnoxious surface.

"I feel plastered in mud. You?"

"No, not especially," Alpha admitted. He had been wearing armor when on Jabiim; now he wasn't.

"Hmm. I have rarely been so dirty; my clothing crackles. I blame you, Alpha, for putting me in this body cast." He shifted and tried to look himself over, sniffing in disgust though more at what he felt than what he smelled.

"Blame accepted, general," Alpha answered tolerantly. "I landed on top of you, whether you remember it or not. You were the one face down in the puddle."

"Yes, so that dent in my head reminds me." Dry as the words were, Obi-Wan knew Alpha wouldn't take offense. They had served together before and Alpha was well aware of his general's dry humor and took it within his stride.

"By the way – thank you for saving my life. Being encased in mud, as unpleasant as it is, is preferable to being scattered in tiny, extremely soggy pieces. I suppose I would have dried out eventually on my pyre, if there was enough left of me to burn – assuming, of course, it is even possible to light a funeral pyre on Jabiim."

"I foresaw that possibility of your death and wished to forestall it. I do not wish to see you die, general, if I can in any way prevent it. Flattening you into the mud was far preferable to seeing you in the midst of an explosion. Really sir, you take too many risks. That's what we clones are for."

"You know my feelings on that."

"Sir."

It was an old argument, and one that could be made without any words uttered after all this time. Clones lived; clones fought; clones died were how Alpha saw it. Clones were still living beings and not mere pawns on a board according to the Jedi. In the end, the argument was academic, clones or not, sentient beings died in battle.

"Well, we're together now, probably equally miserable. Right now I wouldn't mind standing in the middle of a downpour and getting washed clean of all this – filth. It must be worse for you if you're still in your armor. I suppose you're chained, too."

Obi-Wan's attention was only half on the conversation, so he wasn't looking at Alpha.

"I'm not in my armor, sir, and yes, I am chained as are you. Besides the manacles, a chain acts as a leash so we can't do much more than stand up or sit down."

As he had been speaking, the Jedi had been focused on his body's signals, and his body wanted him to get off his feet. Carefully he lowered himself to the hard stone and sat with his legs drawn up to his chest to take the weight off his protesting leg. It was healing, but it was still painful to stand on for any length of time.

That was the only demand he could satisfy. As to the physical discomfort, he could do nothing about the clothing coated in dried Jabiim mud and bodily wastes, a regrettable but unavoidable consequence of being chained with arms behind one's back.

As for mental discomfort: Obi-Wan was perfectly capable of avoiding any thoughts of what might and probably would come. Whether a clone had enough imagination to fear what was to come was uncertain. He would deal with Ventress when she came, not dwell on the possibilities and probabilities ahead of time. His focus now needed to be on a means of escape. His first action, perhaps, should be reaching for Anakin through the bond, for his padawan could then inform the Council of his and Alpha's fate. The more plans for their rescue, the better, with Anakin serving as relay.

_Padawan_? He stretched out, but there was nothing there. _Anakin_? He again reached out, but was again unsuccessful. He frowned, but he wasn't worried. The bond was quiet…but quiet only, not severed. That was one comfort; he knew Anakin was unharmed. Obi-Wan was merely too far away or his access to the Force too weak to make a connection. It was disconcerting, and certainly not helpful, but not something to be worried about. He would try later.

In the meantime…he could divert his attention, and Alpha's, away from what awaited them. The dead had already warned him: unpleasantness lay ahead. Surely the dead would not object to the next victims finding diversion through humor.

Pursing his lips, Obi-Wan said meditatively, "Filthy clothing such as I am wearing puts me in violation of the Jedi rulebook. I see no way to comply with Section 15 regarding proper dress for our, ah, upcoming negotiations with Ventress."

"Proper dress? Negotiations, sir?" Alpha was too polite to ask if Obi-Wan still felt feverish.

"Subsection One of Section 15 of the Jedi manual: Personal Grooming. A Jedi shall strive to present a neat and orderly appearance at all times when dealing with sentients outside of the Order. I fear I am in serious violation of this rule."

The silence dragged on. Clones were not known for a sense of humor; for that matter, his padawan and a few others said the same for him. Alpha had shown a spark of two of appreciation at times; would he understand? Obi-Wan's smile widened as Alpha finally responded.

"Is there no exception for circumstances?"

"Alpha – you do have a sense of humor. I suspected as much."

"Close association with you, General. It was inevitable."

"My padawan fails to understand my humor even after years of close association," Obi-Wan noted, allowing a note of sadness into his inflection. "I have been known to totally throw Anakin by reciting some obscure piece of Jedi 'rules' at him. I have half-convinced him that this rulebook truly exists, yet he swears I have no sense of humor. I promised I would give him a copy at his knighting."

"Which section covers the requirement that a Jedi is to attempt to divert attention away from unpleasantness by joking when in danger?

"Which section covers – what?" Obi-Wan was taken by surprise, then he suddenly chuckled. "Oh, that is Section One, I believe. A Jedi shall be solemn and attentive to duty at all times. A Jedi does not publicly display open joy, fear or mirth. A sense of humor is allowed only if kept concealed or when in captivity for the sole purpose of keeping one's spirits up. A Jedi never loves or hates, remains courteous at all times, and is never an aggressor in a fight."

"Ah, I see. So what is the penalty for being inappropriately attired, sir?"

"Subsection 12 Exception One does grant a Jedi permission to disregard personal grooming in a hazardous or hostile situation, so I believe no penalty will apply. Of course, as a Council member, I can override any of the rules when deemed necessary."

"Quite reasonable," Alpha agreed.

"Speaking of which," Obi-Wan sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "I don't suppose there's any hope of Ventress letting us clean up, is there? Which of us smells worse? Our clothes positively stink, no surprise there since we've been all but living in them for some time. They do say sometimes the best offense is a good defense; I am sure the reverse must also be true, and we are pretty offensive. I find the touch of my clothing positively distasteful: I would rather be without."

He would shortly get his wish.

In between bouts of conversation with Alpha, Obi-Wan tried to call to his padawan, but the bond remained silent, a pathway fading into mists and fog, a clear indication of great distance between master and apprentice. He remembered a time, early in his apprenticeship, when Qui-Gon had left on some solitary mission, he having been too young a padawan to accompany him. No one had thought to warn him how distance could mute the bond; he had nearly panicked until one of the Jedi masters had seen his growing anxiety and explained what was going on.

He had calmed down until his master had next checked in, and then the unreasoning anxiety had rushed back.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon had questioned, then seemed to realize. "Padawan, I am sorry. I never meant to worry you. I should have thought to tell you before I left."

"I wasn't…," great, now he was both lying to his master, and as good as telling him he didn't miss him. "I was…I didn't…" He flushed.

"It was disconcerting for me, also, Padawan. I shall return shortly."

Obi-Wan tried to remember if he and his padawan had ever been so spatially separated that the same had happened with them. Whether or not it had, he did remember speaking to Anakin about such a possibility during the first few years together when the Council occasionally sent him on a solitary mission. No, Anakin had never had cause to be anxious, only upset at being left behind, but he had been far too inexperienced those first few years to be allowed on missions.

With that means of communication inaccessible, Obi-Wan figured it was in both their interests to keep their minds occupied with mundane things. Finding conversational subjects proved difficult, however. Alpha had little interest in galactic politics, the latest Holonet sensation or any other of the one or thousand miscellaneous subjects Obi-Wan tried to occupy the silence with.

At first, Alpha thought the Jedi needed to talk, and he was perfectly willing to indulge his commander. A clonetrooper, especially an ARC Trooper was self-sufficient, neither needing not desiring another's companionship, while perfectly accepting of the same, a result of being nurtured and grown as one among many.

His commander, now, obviously felt a sense of companionship with his fellow captive. Alpha accepted that, and attempted to reciprocate the Jedi's attempts at conversation. It didn't dawn on him for a while that his general was more than capable of diverting his own thoughts; it was an attempt to keep _his_ mind off their coming trial. Alpha thought about interrupting and saying that clones had no imagination and he, in fact, wasn't anticipating or worrying about the future, but kept his mouth shut.

The conversation was pretty much one-sided, with Alpha's contributions simple, until they finally hit on a topic they could share.

The Jedi and the ARC Trooper conversed on battle tactics and training to keep their minds occupied during the short time that Asajj continued to leave the two alone, no doubt expecting them to tremble and stew over what was ahead for them. Instead, Obi-Wan and Alpha occupied themselves with the "here and now," not the sure-to-be-painful "what might come."

"What was to come," came not long after.


	10. Facing Ventress

"Oh, dear," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath as he surfaced from another attempt to access the Force, while keeping a mask of calm over his features. It didn't take the prickly feeling at his neck and the slight tenseness of his muscles to tell him what was to come would be anything but pleasant. Sometimes a "bad feeling" was a mere and unnecessary companion to knowledge, as it was now.

Their solitude was about to end. He sighed: he most definitely was not looking forward to what was coming, but he saw no way to evade it. Not yet.

Other than the skitter of tiny claws in a far corner, or the occasional rustle of stiff clothing, it had been silent for some time. Alpha had been asleep, but Obi-Wan's soft exclamation had instantly roused him.

With a quick shake of his head and gesture towards the door, he whispered, "She's coming."

There might be nothing to hear or see yet, but the ARC Trooper had learned to trust his general's senses. When trouble was brewing, the Jedi knew it, even if he didn't know how soon it would arrive.

"Now," Obi-Wan said quietly, interpreting Alpha's look. He focused on the door and the barely audible sound of a lock, trying to _hear_ the innards of the lock mechanism. Not a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face as he caught the pattern and filed it within his memory. He had no doubt the knowledge would come in handy someday.

The narrow fringe of light underneath the door widened as the heavy door swung inwards, leaving several figures backlit by artificial light. Obi-Wan glanced at Alpha, but the man just barely shook his head: he tensed even as Obi-Wan relaxed. The Jedi refocused all of his attention on the present, for the moment forgoing his exploration of the possibilities of freeing himself.

He had to admit he wasn't at all sure what Ventress had planned. If it was his death she wanted, she had passed up several opportunities already. There was a possibility she planned to use him as bait for his padawan: the two had tangled previously and she had made no secret of her hatred for the Jedi in general, and Anakin in particular. For reasons he couldn't explain, he felt confident that was not the explanation. She would not have bothered to take Alpha hostage if that was her plan.

She wanted something, and it was something she could not obtain from a dead man. Odds were as long as he didn't give her what she wanted, he would remain alive, and Alpha as well.

He would do well not to underestimate her for one moment. Her training was less than superb, but she was clearly strong in the Force, and skillful with the blade. She had the advantage of him, at least for now.

She also had no scruples. He was not going to forget for one moment how Ventress dealt with her enemies, even those subdued and within her control. What his mind barely remembered was seared in the memory of flesh – blurry eyes sensing a foot's movement - some impact driving a jagged fragment of debris deeper within his leg – down to the very bone itself –shattered nerves and flaked bone screaming in protest…fighting nausea, fighting darkness, and fighting pain…until he spiraled into oblivion accompanied by the sound of her barking laughter.

"How nice, we have company, Alpha. I hope it's room service."

Ventress chuckled. There was no maliciousness in it, only approval. Was this woman standing before him the same Ventress? Everything about her stated her pleasure at his recovery, even the Force itself revealed no immediate threat. His concern spiked as she stepped forward with a clap of delight.

"Obi-Wan! You're feeling better. I'm so pleased."

* * *

Alpha's training had brought him to a tense alert as soon as the door swung open; poised to act before he realized he was in no position to act. He didn't think the Jedi was in a position to do so, either. Not yet. He had wondered when their captor would realize the Jedi was sufficiently recovered; Ventress obviously hated him with a passion, why else would she be so bent on his starting out in good enough health that she have the pleasure of reducing him to, well – Alpha still didn't know for sure. Or why.

All he did know was that his general was going to be in for a very rough time, and he along with him. This woman was not going to play by any of the rules governing treatment of prisoners. She had proven that on the journey here.

Alpha didn't understand cruelty or evil, or mercy or kindness, either. Emotions served no purpose; clones were breed for a purpose: obeying orders. ARC Troopers like he had a little more free will and ability to think independently than the average clone, since such ability was required to lead troops and strategize. Emotion, though, while not eliminated from the human structure, was largely minimized and re-channeled into purpose alone.

If Ventress merely craved the Jedi's death, she could have waited to see if the infection and fever would do the job for her, or just killed him while he was helpless. If she merely craved information, she could have started interrogating Alpha long before this. None of it made sense to the ARC trooper, but he was quite sure Ventress wasn't planning on explaining things to him.

The open door allowed low light to spill into the cell in an irregular swath that made it possible for the two captives to see each other more clearly. Both were disheveled; their clothing wrinkled and stained, shoulders hunched from arms being restrained behind them. Kenobi slowly stood, to stand loosely facing his captors, his face calm and quiet in repose. Any sign of weakness was banished, the wry humor not evident.

The Jedi made a rather imposing figure, Alpha decided, even caked in mud, with one pant leg ripped and hanging open, revealing a stained bandage. Any damage Ventress had inflicted upon him during transit was either not visible or had healed, except for the smear of mud and blood across one cheek. He doubted the man was even aware of his treatment during the journey. Alpha remembered all too well; helpless to intervene he had been forced to watch.

Trussed, half-conscious and immobile, Kenobi's body had jerked and shuddered with several vicious blows, only a few grunts weakly escaping. Remembering Ventress's parting gesture, a kick to an unprotected head, he growled deep in his throat just as he had done then. His general had lain limp on the deck; blood trickling down his cheek and neck. Ventress had looked at her blood-spattered boot and with a mocking smile had then driven the toe into the Jedi's side none too gently before cleaning her boot upon him.

Kenobi hadn't spoken of his mistreatment and probably knew nothing but what Alpha had told him once he had woken. Alpha remembered it all too well. While he wasn't a vindictive man - it wasn't in a clone's makeup - he did respect an honorable opponent. Ventress had shown no honor.

It was one thing to fight an honest fight, it was entirely another to abuse the wounded, or mistreat someone unable to fight back and unconscious. He hoped someday he would be the one to make Ventress regret her actions.

One simply did not take advantage of an opponent who was already down.

* * *

"I am delighted to see you on your feet, Obi-Wan. I hope you are feeling well."

"For now," he nodded; his meaning more than clear. He didn't bother to spare a glance at the guards; they were not the real threat here and remained in the doorway as Ventress moved towards him.

"Ah yes, you have regained your sense of humor; you must be recovered. Your manners, however, are deplorable. Your discourtesy in not thanking me for treating your injury is so typical of a Jedi."

"How remiss of me. I know the purpose is only to inflict more, so I do not believe thanks are required in this circumstance." His voice was even, betraying no anxiety, only a quiet watchfulness. "However, politeness never goes unrewarded, so your care is appreciated. Thank you."

"You know, Kenobi, I'm not truly your enemy. I wish you would see that."

Obi-Wan allowed a mild look of disbelief to cross his face as he glanced pointedly at his chains. "No? I'm not a fool, Asajj."

"Oh, Obi-Wan – who treated your wound? You are so quick to jump to conclusions. Those chains are to protect me from you until I've had a chance to gain your cooperation. You Jedi are so quick to react to things you must see why I wished to protect myself until I knew you would at least give me a chance to talk."

"You don't think trying to escape from one who mistreats us is unwarranted?" It was all Obi-Wan could do not to roll his eyes, or snort his answer. Last time he had been held captive, Dooku had tried a similar reasonable approach doctrine, so earnest in his apparent desire to have Obi-Wan join forces with him. Something about that thought tickled at him – it had relevance, but he wasn't sure what.

"I feared you might harm me, not just escape."

Obi-Wan wasn't fooled by the apparent sincerity in her words. "I don't cooperate with those who chain me. Someone should tell you this is not the way to secure my good will."

"You were feverish and probably don't remember what happened. I restrained you for your own good." Catching his meaningful look at Alpha, Ventress said with a note of regret, "Your clone? He doubted my intentions towards you; it was necessary to restrain him, also. Let me prove my good intentions. Aidus, free our Jedi, from his chains and then see about getting him a decent meal, something to drink, and something to wash up with. The clone, too, of course."

He accepted with a curt nod; he would be a fool not to, but he recognized psychological manipulation when he heard it. He ignored Aidus's hot breath on his neck as he removed the chains confining his arms and legs.

He glanced sideways at Alpha as he, too, was freed. A barely perceptible nod showed that Alpha understood he was to remain quiet and let his general speak for them.

Once Alpha was free, the Jedi rubbed his wrists and stretched his shoulders, feeling cramped muscles protest at the movement after long restraint in one position. His face betrayed none of the pain of returning sensation, nerves tingling and muscles throbbing. His leg nearly buckled under him but he regained his equilibrium quickly by shifting his weight almost entirely upon the other leg.

"I really hate that I was forced to restrain you by such means. We should be on the same side, Kenobi. It's such a shame that you have chosen to give your allegiance to the side that oppresses innocent people."

Restraining his urge to roll his eyes – what, did she think she was talking to someone naïve, the Jedi only snorted. "What's your game, Asajj?" As he spoke, he reached out, hoping the Force was again at his command, but he still felt blocked. That eliminated the Force shielded manacles as the problem.

He managed to hide his frown, but did pick up on a small flicker of amusement in Asajj's manner; she was aware of his probe through the Force. She was obviously strong and skilled in the Force; perhaps as skilled as he or Anakin, but she was in better health than he and that gave her an advantage. Her strength was stronger than his at the moment. For the time being he would play along; he had little choice.

"My allegiance is to the Force and is not up for barter."

"The Force plays politics? You know, Obi-Wan, this war is only being fought to protect the interests of the politicians – not the sentients who make up the Republic citizenry or even many of the member planets."

There was no doubt that she knew or at least suspected some of his doubts about Jedi involvement in political matters. His prior history with the Jedi and the Senate, the endless dissection of the war and its leaders in the Holonet saw to that. The information was not highly accurate, but enough so.

"There is far more at stake than political survival."

"The system is corrupt and does not serve the citizens. It has failed its citizens. You uphold a morally bankrupt system that does not work."

Who was Ventress to argue morality with him? Yet her questions were some of the same

ones he had asked himself, debated with fellow Jedi, grieved about in the quiet hours of the night.

"I'm enough of a realist to know no system of government is perfect, and the Separatists have no claim to superiority. What about the worlds they've invaded, enslaved and ruined?" He raised an eyebrow at her; he couldn't restrain himself. He had helped free several planets from the yoke of the Separatists; he knew the lasting damage they left behind. Some planets would take years to rebuild; some of those planets' victims would take years to rebuild their lives.

Obi-Wan had no illusions about the effect of war, or its aftereffects. Long after the fighting was over, the armies decommissioned and the battlefields that had once been drenched in blood slowly become overgrown or built over, the effects would continue to be felt for years. Rebuilding always took longer than destruction.

"Oh, Kenobi, you say you're a realist." Ventress sighed dramatically. "Do you really think you are fighting to preserve democracy? You're fighting for the Republic, a corrupt political institution, not an ideal. The politicians don't care about the citizens – do you really think this is about protecting the people, or is it the interests of those wanting to hold onto power?"

"No system or institution is perfect but that does not mean it is not worth protecting."

"That system you profess to uphold is corrupt, Obi-Wan, benefiting none but those in charge – so don't give me that line about justice, democracy, or fighting for the common man. Don't tell me it's standing up for principle, either. You're fighting for the politicians, for their special privileges. Who loses, Obi-Wan? Who loses the most?"

_Everyone loses in war. Those who lose the most are the most innocent of all._

"Who benefits, Obi-Wan? Is justice done? When Naboo was invaded by the Trade Federation, did the Senate act? It appointed a commission. Did the courts ever deliver justice to the people of Naboo? No, the issue still drags on in court. Did your master die for nothing?"

"Leave Qui-Gon Jinn out of this," Obi-Wan snapped. "He died to protect the Queen, not a cause. We took no sides."

Ventress continued ruthlessly on, aware she had struck a nerve from the ripple in the Force.

"Officially, yes, I suppose so. So the Trade Federation had to withdraw and the Naboo were free to resume their lives; the leaders of the invasion jailed and punished."

Unfortunately, her taunt ran true. The legal wrangling had never ceased. Thousands of Naboo and Gungans had died in a trade dispute, and there had no legal repercussions even after all these years. Political yes – Chancellor Valorum had not survived a challenge to his leadership; Chancellor Palpatine came into office as unrest grew.

"I am well aware of the courts failure to act." Political wrangling was far worse than mere negotiations and diplomacy. The Trade Federation blockade and occupation of Naboo had been clearly wrong; it had not been clearly illegal.

"You do believe the Naboo had the right to self-determination, though, right, Kenobi?"

"Right." His tone was wary, looking for the trap.

"Just like the planets that joined the Separatists. They only want to guide their own destiny, so therefore you must support their right to choose. See how easily we agree?" Ventress's smile invited Obi-Wan to see their commonality.

Obi-Wan shook his head and observed calmly, "You sound like the last man who held me captive. Dooku was far more persuasive, but even he failed to secure my cooperation."

The Jedi did not fail to notice the slight tensing of Ventress's muscles as he mentioned Count Dooku. He filed the information away in his mind for later analysis.

"There's a framework of laws for a reason. Disregarding them has led to utter chaos. The Senate is all but paralyzed, the courts do nothing, and blood runs all too freely. The Separatists have shown themselves willing on multiple planets to incite civil war, invade planets unwilling to join with them, and disrupt democracy where it flourishes. We have nothing in common, Ventress, except one: we both have killed and will again – but I do not like it. You do. I only kill to protect others when I have no other option. You have no such scruples. No, we are not alike at all, Ventress. I abhor war and violence."

"You will have cause to regret your words."

"I am sure I will. I do not take them back. I am a Jedi Knight, and I will not forsake the Force no matter your persuasions."

Ventress's eyes narrowed. "So," she hissed. "So be it."

The "negotiations" had indeed been short, Obi-Wan thought, though he had never expected otherwise. He had gained some knowledge which might be of future help. He only regretted that the offer of food and water had not materialized.

"So be it," Obi-Wan agreed. "Your attempt to extricate information from us is about to begin and I know I shan't like it one bit. I know what evil you practice here; it permeates the very walls of this place."

The dead had been all too eloquent on what was ahead. He wouldn't be human if he wasn't scared. He wouldn't be a Jedi if he wasn't able to accept the fear and let it roll through him.

"I?" Ventress was amused. "Oh, this place has been seeped in pain for generations. This place predates me; it suits me. You sense it, too? Good. Then you know what awaits."

At her command, her guards swept into the cell and advanced on Alpha while Aidus swaggered over to stand next to Obi-Wan, hooking his thumbs in his belt while staring steadily at the Jedi with a smirk on his face. As a means of intimidation it was not effective and the Jedi had to restrain a small grin, choosing instead to totally ignore the man's presence at his side. Asajj, now, she coolly looked at him, deigning to raise an eyebrow at him and watching him instead of Alpha as her guards grabbed the ARC Trooper.

* * *

"Hey, be gentle," Alpha snapped as one guard bound his arms together again. He was backhanded across his face for his protest.

"No protest, Kenobi?"

"He's only a clone," Obi-Wan said indifferently. Alpha stiffened and stared at his general. The Jedi looked at him for a brief moment then looked away, effectively dismissing the clone from thought.

Asajj's laugh was startling in that place of shadows and stains, echoing in a weird mimicry of the echoes of long-ago screams that permeated the air.

"Oh, Kenobi," she chortled, grabbing his chin and staring into his eyes from mere inches away. "Your act is not fooling me. You only wish me to think you don't care about him so I can't use him against you, but I know your true weakness. You honor life. Even clones…naming them, even. You two probably planned this little act together."

"Then you should also know that I never hesitate to send men into battle to their deaths," he replied evenly. "Even men with names."

"Indeed. Just how many Jedi and clones have died under your command, Kenobi? How many innocents?"

From the suddenly firmed lips and steady stare, Alpha knew Ventress's questioning his general on how many deaths he had been responsible for jabbed deep. The stiff exterior covered a heart weary of war and deaths, something Alpha never questioned and never understood. One lived and one eventually died, and the "when" didn't matter.

To the Jedi it did; each and every single one he had worked beside. The orphans of the "padawan pack" showed it the most openly, having all lost their masters to war and all inexpertly hiding their grief. Yet for all their apparent grief, it was the older ones who hid it better that felt it the most. Weary eyes, slumped shoulders, expressionless faces betrayed them, yet none faltered in their duty. As their clone troops did, they accepted what they could not change and did what they could.

As he would do, his general would do: stand up to Ventress and make her earn every word that was torn from his lips. Ventress had a real fight on her hands, whether she realized it or not, and his general would combat her with all the mild expressions and dry humor at his command.

Obi-Wan was rescued from answering by Alpha's firm declaration and equally firm glare in his direction.

"We follow the Jedi's orders, Ventress. We have no personal feelings for them. His fate is not my concern since we are not on the battlefield."

"So…," Asajj hissed. One of her lightsabers snapped into being and tickled near Obi-Wan's throat, mere inches from igniting his beard, though a few hairs sizzled and curled into ash. "Should I behead him?"

Her lightsaber moved lower, danced inches from his chest. "Gut him while alive?"

"You have proven you don't want me dead, already. Yet," Obi-Wan said, ignoring the searing heat warming up his tunic. "Nor do I fear death. These games are tiresome, Ventress."

"Yes, I suppose so. There are far more effective games I can play with you, as you will soon see." Asajj's lightsaber was soon back on her belt. Looking over at the guards holding Alpha, she barked, "Take him away now. You, clone, prepare to talk."

Their pretense of indifference to each other's fates all but blown, Obi-Wan decided to try a different tactic.

"Where are you taking him?" He put all the command presence into his voice that he could. It was the one voice that could stop Anakin in his tracks, and for that reason was rarely employed, saved for the direst of need. For the moment, his focus was all on Alpha. "He follows order, Ventress; I'm the one who gives them. You want information; you try and get it from me."

She turned her attention back to him and tapped a foot on the floor. "Oh, don't worry, Kenobi. Your precious clone won't be terribly harmed, not if he tells me what I want to know. I merely want information from him – unlike you."

"Don't tell her anything, general, I can handle whatever she throws at me," Alpha said grimly. A moment later one of the guard's fist smacked into his face. At the same time, Aidus matched the gesture, knocking the Jedi's head sideways with an open-palmed slap that left a deep red stain on the pale skin.

"Tsk, tsk, such ungentlemanly manners," Asajj said, circling Obi-Wan as he looked steadily at her despite the blood welling from a cut lip, ignoring Aidus now standing behind him. "Clone, and you, too, Obi-Wan, each of you suffers if the other doesn't cooperate, got it?"

One of the guards had dug his fingers into Alpha's shoulders and forced him to stop and turn around as Aidus grabbed Obi-Wan's head and twisted it to face Alpha at a signal from Asajj. He had been itching to force the Jedi's attention where his eyes were already focused anyway. Obi-Wan steadily eyed Alpha.

Ignoring Aidus's hands clamped around his head, Obi-Wan turned his eyes back to Ventress.

"Rules of combat state that once an enemy combatant has been subdued -," Obi-Wan waited until his head stopped ringing, "undue force is prohibited -."

Alpha winced as his general started to protest, and was backhanded across his face for his efforts. It didn't stop Obi-Wan: another protest, another slap. What stopped the Jedi was Alpha's look: less a plea than recognition that protesting accomplished nothing. Even the Jedi realized finally protests didn't do any good.

The two men looked at each other and nodded in a silent understanding. Each would have to face his own ordeal, on his own, without concern for the other. Just before Alpha was prodded forward, the Jedi let the corner of his mouth quirk up in a silent salute.

As Alpha was all but dragged out of the cell, he threw a last look over his shoulder and saw the Jedi's arms dragged above him and fastened to some unseen projection. Before the door swung shut behind him, he heard the general's clipped and cultured voice, sounding, he was sure, amused.

* * *

There was only the sound of a few shuffling footsteps before the door swung shut, leaving Obi-Wan alone with Aidus and Ventress. This time Aidus's itch to manhandle the Jedi was satisfied as he grabbed Obi-Wan's head and twisted it away from the door to face Ventress, his fingers digging deeply into the soft skin below his jaw.

Obi-Wan's eyes blazed for a moment, and then with an almost audible sigh, he relaxed and offered a mild, "ow." Without warning his head swung sideways and his vision swam with spots of color. He had not sensed that coming, had not prepared to absorb the blow, and that was a concern. His grasp of the Force was still tenuous.

"You know, torture is not an approved form of warfare nowadays. There are many other much more civilized ways of trying to obtain information. You are more than welcome to try them."

"Oh, I suspect I won't get much in the way of information from you, Jedi." She hissed the last. "You seem rather – resistant. However, I want so much more from you than that. You would probably far prefer it if that was all I sought. You are all but helpless already and I assure you, you will be totally helpless before long and I shall have my revenge."

Her choice of words rather startled him. Revenge? What had he done to merit revenge? Revenge was usually personal, retaliation for a perceived wrong and he had never had any dealings with Ventress that he was aware of. Anakin, yes, but not him.

He was well aware that the Separatist leaders resented Jedi involvement in the war, but their enmity had never been directed at any individual Jedi. Even on Geonosis, Count Dooku had presented himself as a clear-thinking political idealist, seeking to ally Obi-Wan with his cause and taking no personal affront from Obi-Wan's refusal.

So far, no one on the other side had made it personal; he wondered why Ventress did – and why he was her target. It was Anakin who had faced her and gained the upper hand recently, though the outcome had been essentially a draw, considering both parties remained free and whole.

He raised one eyebrow and said chidingly, "Revenge is a destructive emotion, Asajj. You only hurt yourself."

"As it shall hurt you, Obi-Wan. In all sorts of ways and some you couldn't even begin to imagine as yet. I can be – quite creative. Shall we begin?"

_Can I say no? Very well_. Obi-Wan did his best to stand straight, adopting a casual posture of preparedness without bravado. The moment was spoiled as he slightly stumbled; he was just a bit dizzy after all the jolts to his head in the last few minutes.

"I doubt I shall enjoy your fun," he said agreeably, trying to decipher if his comebacks were making the situation slightly more or less bearable. He couldn't tell, but Asajj did seem to return his barbs with her own. Until he was proven mistaken, he decided to maintain his casual air and banter as long as he possibly could. If that tactic failed, he was not averse to trying another, for what was to come was surely a battle. "Not unless it's a warm shower and a nice meal. You did promise that before and never delivered."

"You are hardly the picture of a noble Jedi knight," Asajj agreed. "You are a deplorable mess, Kenobi."

"Indeed I am. That's why I'd like to wash and get out of these clothes into something more - civilized."

"I think I can remedy the situation. The sight and smell of that – soiled cloth – offends me," Asajj sniffed.

"You? Think how offensive I find it," Obi-Wan retorted.

"Then we shall have to get rid of it. Aidus."

At the nod of her head, and a succinct command to "remove it;" Aidus grasped the neck of the Jedi's tunic and tried to rip it off, but the fabric wasn't responsive enough, the pull merely shifting Obi-Wan on his feet in an attempt to maintain balance. Aidus produced a vibroblade and swiped none too carefully at the neckline, the tip nicking skin and slashing downwards. Soon the Jedi was freed from the clothing, a trickle of red beads following the path of the vibroblade's tip as the now tattered rags fell by his feet. What ordinarily would have had Obi-Wan blushing was instead a relief.

He smiled pleasantly at Asajj. "See, no hidden secrets."

Obi-Wan was truly grateful to have the damp and smelly clothing away from his skin. It had not provided warmth for a long time. Soiled, damp, stained, it had provided nothing but a rash and modesty. It offered no protection against whatever Asajj had in mind, either, not being impervious to lightsaber, vibroblade or blows.

"Dispose of it, Aidus."

"Thank you, it's nice to have laundry service, though it could have been more timely," he offered off-handedly as Aidus kicked the pile aside, hiding a grin at Ventress' surprise. His hidden amusement was momentarily dampened as Asajj looked him over disdainfully; her eyes pausing for a moment as she stared at a portion of his anatomy usually not visible.

"So, my little Jedi," she deliberately baited him, "you still make your little jokes."

Her gaze was a bit disconcerting, but Obi-Wan ignored it as best he could. A certain oft-repeated and favorite Jedi adage entered his mind, unbidden. Why that saying of Yoda's, he wondered, since it had no relevance to the situation. Anakin was right; he did have a rather strange sense of humor.

Obi-Wan found it hard not to chuckle – he wondered what Yoda's reaction would be should Obi-Wan repeat it now. Jedi could not be taunted with insults.

On the other hand…his eyes brightened and he spoke the phrase, and had the satisfaction of seeing Ventress' eyes harden. She had not expected this kind of response from him. She expected him to feel vulnerable and exposed, belittled, not trading taunt for joke. He had succeeded in knocking her off balance, but his amusement faded into a half-swallowed gulp as her hand rested on the hilt of her lightsaber.

"This can take off more than limbs and heads," she said calmly. "I strongly suggest you cooperate, Obi-Wan, not mock me."

He wasn't fond of the idea of mutilation, so he held his tongue.

"I want something from you, Jedi," Asajj stated. "Let me tell you now, you will tell me what I wish to know and you will suffer. The longer you take to tell me, the more you will suffer, so you might as well talk now. After that, well, there are things I want of you."

_Let the fun begin_…his own eyes hardened. 'I will tell you this, Ventress, you will not know if I tell you truth or lies if I speak at all." Interrogation classes taught Jedi that eventually anyone could be pushed past his or her own breaking point and that when the point was close to hand, it was better to start speaking a mixture of truth and falsehood before one reached the breaking point.

The two stared calmly at each other, faces inches apart. This battle started now, and Obi-Wan would not back down from a battle he was forced into.

The interrogation began.

* * *

Alpha waited. Somehow dragged, pushed and prodded all at the same time, he had surveyed his surroundings as he was moved from one cell to another. The hallway was brighter than the cells, but not inordinately so, still, it was enough to make his eyes water.

He eyed the guards, calculating if he could break free, but these guards were more than just guardians of the prisoners. They were battered and scarred; veterans of many battles. A blaster was constantly trained on him and he knew should he make a move he would be shot before he could do more than take several of them down with him.

Alpha was hauled only a short way and his own clothes roughly torn off him. It was an old trick, meant to make the victim feel powerless and exposed. It would not faze him or the Jedi either, Alpha was sure. He was again chained to something. He had less freedom of movement now, forced to remain standing as his chained arms were fastened to the wall at mid chest height.

Bound in place, he had nothing to do but await his own fate.


	11. The Gloves Come Off

Chained, waiting to be interrogated was not conducive to peace of mind for most beings. Clones were not most beings, so Alpha calmly waited.

His indifference was no act, for a clone incapable of much emotion meant he had little fear of what was to come. He would prefer to avoid it, but if he had no choice, he would do his duty and endure it.

The guards who had escorted him to this cell were basically indifferent to their prisoner. They had joked amongst themselves how Ventress was finally going to get "that Jedi" broken and begging for his life as he groveled at her feet. Somehow, Alpha doubted that, just as he doubted the guards even knew what a Jedi was, from the way they spoke.

Ventress had deliberately targeted Kenobi, it was now apparent, but it was unclear just why she had. It was not military information she sought from him; it was personal satisfaction. From the guards talk, Ventress hated Kenobi and considered him an obstacle to something she desired. Alpha found this strange, for his general was not the type of man to earn personal enmity, being far too unassuming and mild in temperament.

_She is going to make that Jedi wish he were dead long before he will be._

Unpleasant though his own ordeal would certainly be, Alpha knew it was going to be far worst for his general.

Alpha had to wait for quite a while as Ventress interrogated his commander first. He figured she would be in quite a rage when she got to him. While he waited, he reviewed what little he had seen as he was moved from one cell to this one, but there had been little to see: a long, dim corridor with doors evenly spaced, as far as he could see. He had seen no sign of patrolling guards, sentient or droid, but that didn't mean there weren't any.

There had been no sign of transparisteel panels, seeming to confirm his general's thoughts that they were underground. That meant that any escape would almost certainly be in an upwards direction, unless there was one or more levels beneath them.

There had been no sounds: not of machinery, men, or droids. Just as Alpha had wondered if the other cells held any prisoners, one of his guards had stopped and slid open a peephole and shouted coarsely, "Hey, there, you got yourself a break. Ventress has got herself two new prime prisoners to occupy her attention so enjoy your vacation, scum."

He had then turned to Alpha and said conversationally, "She doesn't hate you like she hates that Jedi. Don't know why she does – he doesn't seem any different than any other man – even soils himself like any man frightened of what's ahead for him."

Alpha had ignored the comment, for chained men had no options when it came to personal hygiene. But he now knew there were other prisoners on this level. One never knew what information might prove helpful.

The only question in his mind was at whose hands rescue would come: his general's, or his general's padawan. Both of them had pulled too many impossible stunts not to doubt either one's capabilities.

While he waited, he tried to free his hands from the manacles or tear himself free from the wall behind him. Were he still in his armor, he might have been able to access a small tool in the cuff of his sleeve made for just such events as this – but he was no longer armored; now he even no longer wore only the lightweight underclothing that all clones wore under their armor.

No matter how he twisted or flexed his wrists, he could not force open the binders that held him shackled to the wall. In the end, he finally admitted at least temporary defeat as his nerve centers finally transmitted the information that he had rubbed the skin raw in his attempts.

With nothing else to occupy his time, he closed his eyes and slept.

The loud thump as a door slammed open and ricocheted off the wall woke him. Ventress had a scowl on her pale face and her eyes blazed as she advanced on him.

_Finding the general quite capable of holding his own with you?_

He straightened up as well as he could, his face carefully neutral. Not only had she had no luck, but she was in a foul temper as well. He had known it would take a lot before his general would break, and one session alone was not nearly enough. He didn't care to think just what Ventress would have to do to his commander to achieve her goal. Even Kenobi would break, given enough time. Jedi or not, he was still a man, and a man could only withstand so much.

"Where are the Republic foundries?" She spit the question at him even as she stalked towards him.

"I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

With a backhanded slap, Asajj corrected him. "This, clone, is your authorization. If you don't accept it, this vibroblade should persuade you." Not only did she hold up the weapon, but scored his cheek with a quick slash.

"I don't accept that as proper authorization."

"Let me persuade you otherwise."

With these words, Alpha's ordeal began. Ventress' weapon of choice was a vibroblade; she apparently assumed it was the most effective weapon against a clone. He would humor her. One instrument or another made no difference. In some ways, he was programmed little different from a droid. He would withstand her or be destroyed.

His fate mattered not at all; only the Republic mattered. Orders mattered, and he would obey his orders, and Order One was simple: release no classified information to unauthorized parties. Order Two: Protect your commander.

When Ventress and Aidus finally left him, Alpha allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. As far as he was concerned, he had won that round.

He glanced down at the cuts and gashes decorating his chest and arms. So far, none were too deep and the pain fleeting. More painful was the touch of her sharply pointed boot, especially when directed against tender skin. He had managed to shift just enough to deflect a vicious knee to his midsection, taking the worst of the blow where the pain was nothing compared to what he would have felt had it landed at its target. Ventress had been enraged enough not to notice.

It had all been pretty straightforward and much as expected: blows, a request for information and denial of the same, slashes and scoring, interrupted by attempts to gain information.

His response had always been the same, delivered in the same flat tone. Obviously, Ventress had never heard of the saying: The definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. He had heard General Kenobi mutter it many a time after tearing after his padawan in some foolhardy, yet ultimately successful, sortie, all the while shouting, "hold on, Anakin, think before you – blast it! Hang on, I'm behind you."

There were rumors that the sun did occasionally come out on Jabiim. After a number of weeks, the rumors were still only that.

Jabiim was not to be easily taken back from the Separatist rebels, largely due to weather. Rain was the biggest obstacle, for with rain came such violent atmospheric conditions that the Republic forces could not be easily re-supplied as long as the atmospheric conditions interfered. It also meant there would was no air support, which had always been a Republic strength.

Ground forces and equipment floundered in the mud; the constant clouds and moisture meant it was a constant battle to keep machines lubricated

The "Nimbus troops" of Alto Status easily navigated the swampy ground with their repulsor boots, and turned out to be the second biggest obstacle the Republic faced, zooming up and fastening charges to the AT-ATs, constantly outmaneuvering the ground troops. Luckily, their numbers were limited, or the battle for Jabiim may have been the disaster of Jabiim.

There was always the chance that it might still be, but for now, the battles waged back and forth, with first one side then the other advancing and retreating.

For Anakin Skywalker, "Jabiim" would always be a name he wished never to hear mentioned and a place he would like wiped from memory. No matter his master's fate, no matter how soon his rescue, no matter what shape he was in when found, Jabiim would always be where Anakin had lost his mentor and friend and was forced – at least temporarily - to accept the loss.

He had lost far too much on Jabiim, though he had gained one unexpected and long-desired thing: friends and acceptance within the so-called "padawan pack."

As a Jedi padawan, he had been too isolated from his age mates, counting few as actual friends. He had never made friends easily with those Jedi raised from infancy in the Temple; they were just too different in upbringing. He had come to the Order at age nine, homesick and heartsick at losing both his mother and his would-be mentor, a stranger who came as the padawan of newly knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi, the "Sith-killer."

The Sith had returned! That news alone would have unsettled the Order. But that disturbing news had not been the only blow to the Jedi, the only consequence of the Naboo mission.

The aftermath of that mission had resounded on many levels and it had been a difficult time for the Jedi: a respected Jedi master unexpectedly dead, a padawan not deemed ready for the Trials and seemingly dismissed by his master before the Council now a knight, a strange boy unfamiliar with the ways of the Jedi now a padawan.

He came as an exception to all the rules and conformed to few of the expectations. Anxious to prove himself, Anakin had been forward and abrupt, or tentative and shy.

"Fitting in" had been awkward for both the new padawan and new master. Older Jedi weren't quite sure what to make of his master: a padawan who defeated the Sith who had killed the master, a padawan made a knight without explanation or ceremony, and a padawan who returned with a boy once rejected for training as his own padawan.

Just as adult Jedi weren't sure how to treat his master, none of Anakin's age mates knew how to treat this nine-year-boy suddenly among them, one for whom the rules had been broken. Few initiates were padawans at nine; twelve was more common, and the stranger to the Temple with no training in the ways of the Jedi was not only allowed in, but came

in already a padawan – to one who would have suddenly become one of the most sought-after masters – and who seemed less than enthused about the pairing.

Anakin refused to speak of his dashed hopes to be the padawan of Master Jinn and his reluctant acceptance of a substitute, so his age mates believed his lack of enthusiasm to be the "Sith-killer's" padawan as incomprehensible and a source of suspicion. Any

initiate would have been honored and excited and yet this stranger merely seemed to accept it as his due and not the honor it was.

No one quite knew what to expect or how to behave, so his age mates waited for Anakin to find his place amongst them while he waited for them to make room for him.

Feeling out-of-place, no longer the center of his group of friends – an outsider – it had been both pride and insecurity that kept Anakin aloof. The word soon spread that he considered himself superior to the other padawans, having been all but chosen by Master Jinn at the expense of his own padawan; now he was that very padawan's padawan.

Here on Jabiim, shared tragedy and close quarters had forced the master-less padawans closer, where in the past their differences had kept them separate.

Jabiim had given them all something in common, and even if Anakin still stubbornly believed his master was alive, he was, just like they, without his master's direction and guidance. They all were adrift and relying on each other; they were each others anchors.

Anakin fought for his friends now. They commanded his loyalty as did his master. He could help his friends as he could not his master; for now his duty was undivided. He dreaded the day he might have to choose between them.

* * *

Not until the door shut and relative darkness descended did Obi-Wan allow a pent-up groan to escape. He would not give Ventress or Aidus the satisfaction. Only when alone would he acknowledge how he hurt all over, and then do his best to release the pain into the Force and try to regain some strength before the next session.

It had been one session after another, of words whispered in his ears mixed with sudden jabs and blows. On some level, he knew what she was trying to accomplish, what he didn't know was why.

Why did Ventress wish to gain his sympathy and weaken his loyalties? Did she truly think she could succeed in that, or was that a ruse to cover something even more devious? She continued to try to engage him in a debate over morality and principles, but he had refused to be drawn into a war of words.

No matter her words, no matter how persuasive they might seem to one weakened and less than clear-headed, he refused to be twisted by her words. She had seemed to realize that early on. Having failed with mere arguments, she had gradually stepped up her attacks, forsaking pure arguments by persuasive techniques of mixing arguments with pain and deprivation. Ventress seemed to know as well as he that one who lived by words could not be easily twisted by words alone unless his mind was dulled with pain, hunger and fatigue.

Obi-Wan chose to let her words flow through him and around him. He would not play her game, not while he had a clear mind or when he had not: he would not buy her arguments of peace while she deprived him of liberty.

She also deprived Obi-Wan of sleep and food, startling him awake when he started to drowse with noises and quick stabbing licks of a vibroblade into the soft skin behind his knees or soles of his feet; he would jerk awake not sure of what brought him to wakefulness only to find Ventress's face inches from his own.

Her words sought his unwitting agreement, always couching her arguments in a way that his exhausted and pain-filled mind would see as common ground.

The tactics may have worked, given enough time, or on another man, but Obi-Wan folded what he could of the Force around him, ignoring her words while looking directly at her as if he was forced into listening. What he heard, he countered silently, holding onto what he knew to be the truth.

"You pride yourself on being a Jedi, don't you, Obi-Wan? The Jedi Order says they are peacekeepers, yet the Jedi lead armies and oversee the destruction of many. How can you claim the moral high ground? How do you reconcile killing with protecting life?"

_Know what you know, Kenobi. You know your fellow Jedi: their thoughts, their desires, their goals. You know their hearts as you know yours: service to the greater good. _

He stood fast mentally as all the while as he was steadily weakening – allowed neither to sleep nor eat; half-delirious from having nothing but the occasional dribble of water onto his lips. She had seen to that: her captive would have the bare minimum to keep him alive, enough to keep his mind half engaged to hear her persuasions, too confused to resist her suggestions and thoughts. But she hadn't counted on the inner toughness of a Jedi: the ability to remain strong mentally while weakening physically.

He ignored her as best he could: listening to the memory of the Force pulsing within him, urging him to be strong.

Still he wondered – what did Ventress hope to accomplish? Why did she seem so desperate to get him on her side?

How long would he have to resist her before freedom or death intervened?

Whether she had given up on persuasion or never intended to fully pursue it, Ventress suddenly abandoned all pretenses of seeking cooperation and indulged what seemed to be an unreasonable hatred by increasing the physical abuse she heaped on the Jedi. Her weapons were vibroblade and lightsaber, while she allowed Aidus more direct hands-on contact.

Before long, the Jedi was a multi-hued being: streaks of red mixed with the purple and reds of bruises that yellowed as they healed even as new contusions replaced them. Shiny patches of new skin marked the near touch of a lightsaber; skin that initially reddened and sometimes blistered, sometimes marred in the center by a jagged line from which trickled a waterfall made of blood droplets.

Though his eyes dulled from the effort of releasing the pain into what he could access of the Force, Obi-Wan restrained the normal sounds of a human body in pain and his eyes remained steady on Ventress, eyes that seemed to say: Do your worst, I shall not yield.

He only had to hold on, biting the inside of his mouth or digging the nails of his hand into the now soft palms as he curled the fingers inward while she was there, for he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing how he felt. Had he a stronger command of the Force, he would have felt less pain, but full release was denied him.

Only once she was through with him, was he able to release a half sob, half groan, seeking to find whatever rest he could find by submerging himself in the peaceful currents of the Force - but he was denied even that comfort. It took all his effort just to touch it and let it swirl around him, lightly touching him, but never was it a cushion he could relax into. It lessened his pain, but did not remove it.

Even with so little of the Force at his command, it allowed him the strength to endure and hold his head high, for to survive was to endure.

"How fares my Jedi today?"

This wasn't the first time her voice was suddenly at his ear with no warning. In the first few – days? – he had known when someone entered or left, he could hear the soft squeak of the door opening or closing and see vague outlines in the dim light. Lately, Ventress came like an apparition. It would be unnerving if he had any nerves, but all of his were too caught up in transmitting whatever torment she pleased herself with, for there was no longer any pretense of trying to ally forces.

Despite the pain, he raised his head to face her.

"Oh, quite well… I rather enjoy hanging out here." The words came out thickly, for his lips were quite swollen, though his words were spoken lightly.

"Such a pathetic attempt at humor, Kenobi." A hand grasped his chin and suddenly yanked it sideways, stretching tight muscles. He couldn't help wincing. "Your humor kills me."

"How… kind of you to say so, but… might I inquire why… you are still alive, then?"

"I take great pleasure in watching you squirm."

"I've noticed." Obi-Wan had no doubts on that score. Asajj had taken great delight in her perverted pleasures, yet had taken care not to actually kill him. She had already all but admitted her current goal was to unsettle and weaken him, tease him with apprehension of further abuse to come, to what ultimate purpose it was not clear.

Revenge! Her promise suggested it was not mere information she wanted. Her actions proved it. To what end he didn't know, and in his current state, hardly cared anymore. He was focused on one thing only: surviving until rescued or he found a means of rescuing himself. He rather feared the first was the only real possibility.

The contemplation of even worse to come was distinctly unsettling. He knew a moment of fear. Instead of fighting it, he accepted it, breathed it out, and moved beyond it to a place where there was no fear.

"One must take one's exercise where one finds it. It keeps my body limber, just as our witty repartee keeps my wits sharp."

"And your screams?"

"They hurt my throat…so I try hard to avoid them." He snapped his mouth shut at the prick of a sharp point, pressed against the soft skin of his throat: there were times to speak but also times to remain silent and this seemed a good time to shut up. One thrust and his jugular vein would be pierced. He could feel warmth and moisture as the tip pressed ever so slightly – should he flinch, or even swallow hard – it could easily find its way past the surface skin layer and the soft welling of blood turn into an unstoppable flood.

The two locked gazes; Obi-Wan not backing down and Ventress not pressing forward. Stalemate. Obi-Wan had the strangest urge to laugh.

A quick flick of her wrist, and the tip cut a thin path up his throat to end at his jaw line before the vibroblade was in front of his eyes, the threat for the moment averted.

'You may be weak, but you are not a coward, Obi-Wan. All the worse for you. It's time for you to pay for what you've cost me."

If he thought he had had it bad now he knew he would soon be revising his opinion of bad. His memories were hazy, probably forever would be, of the trip here and of

Ventress' vibroblade cutting open his infected wound so that it would drain. Those were things he knew mostly from Alpha's retelling, not his own memories.

"I want him to suffer at my hands, not the whims of fate." Alpha's recounting of her words had sent a shiver of fear up his spine that he had ruthlessly squashed. She had healed him, only so that she could destroy him. She would find it difficult.

He would not be destroyed so easily. He would not be destroyed at all, nor would Alpha, if Anakin got here in time. Obi-Wan hoped his padawan was okay – he knew if anything terrible happened to him, he would know, but there were other things that could hurt Anakin, things less terrible he would not know about and could not help guide the young Jedi through.

Anakin's compassion sometimes blinded him to his duty. As much as Obi-Wan admired his padawan's concern and empathy for others, his focus on the individual in need sometimes endangered others or the mission, which was where Obi-Wan came in – often to the dismay or dissatisfaction of his padawan. His master was too quick to sacrifice the here and now for the greater goal in Anakin's opinion: Obi-Wan would allow the few to risk death for the greater good, the greater survival. The Jedi master could not afford to take the short term view, regardless of his personal inclinations.

He sometimes wondered if Anakin knew the conflict within him, why his padawan's disregard of tactics sometimes earned him little more than his master's reprimands and secret satisfaction rather than the censure for disobeying orders he truly deserved. Anakin would do what Obi-Wan could not afford to do, and he understood that his own master would strongly approve of the padawan's actions over the master's.

_Anakin – I could really use a rescue. Anytime – soon – would be greatly appreciated._The Force remained silent.

* * *

He focused as the door swung open, already prepared to face what never varied.

"I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

He would not tell his captors that clones had very limited pain centers and their nerves did not readily transmit pain impulses to the brain. Clones had no need for pain. Pain was meant as a warning for normal people: cease what you are doing, proceed no further, seek medical aid if necessary.

A clone had only one duty: to serve the Republic, and that meant keeping military secrets, resisting torture, killing the enemy as directed by the commander, or being killed in battle. A clone literally could not reveal unauthorized information.

His general now – he was a man. Rather an exceptional one, but fully human. He was also a Jedi, and not just a Jedi, but a Jedi master. On a purely intellectual basis Alpha wondered if the Jedi would be just as resistant to releasing information, or if even a Jedi could be pushed too far. Perhaps by now, after numerous days of presumed torture, Kenobi had already broken and given Ventress the information she sought. It was fair to assume not, unless Ventress only wanted Alpha to confirm what Kenobi had already given her.

Another flash of her blade; another trickle of blood upon his body. Alpha was relatively immune to it, though he made the requisite moans and cries he thought appropriate. So far he didn't think he had lost enough blood to be in any serious danger, and none of the wounds would impair his mobility once he was freed.

His gaze was steady upon Asajj's face. "I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

Asajj was obviously agitated for she stood toe to toe with him, ignoring the blood that dripped onto the toe of her boots. Eyes dark with fury, she nearly spat at him in her anger.

"I could take your tongue, your ear. I could gut you – would you like that?"

Alpha sighed, a habit he had picked up from his commander. "I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

He merely watched as Asajj's knife flashed; a bead of red welled up, followed by another as the first one slid down his thigh. The slow trickle became a steady stream. The longer he kept Asajj occupied, the longer his general had a respite from something similar.

The deadly dance continued.


	12. Holding Hope

Obi-Wan Kenobi's memorial service was long past; the exploits of the "The Negotiator" fading from memory, yet two still believed in the impossible, that he lived. It was inevitable that whispers of such fluttered around the Temple. None else dared to believe; a few dared to hope.

One was Padawan Terzah.

Rumor said that Master Kenobi's own padawan steadfastly insisted his master was alive and that was why he had not attended his master's memorial. Knight Tachi, too, believed if rumor were true, and no knight or master would allow emotion to blind one. Jedi faced and accepted reality, no matter how bitter. Hope was never allowed to rule the heart or mind.

Of all the Jedi in the Temple, Terzah figured only she would be able to explain why – against all evidence – two Jedi did not believe what seemed so certain. No Jedi had enough Force power to withstand a powerful explosion and the resulting fireball and intense heat that had reduced the victims to ashes. There had been no enemy near enough to capture Master Kenobi; should he have survived somehow – he could only – possibly – been pulled free by another Force user and the only known Force users on Jabiim were Jedi.

Terzah would not have been able to bring himself to speak to Padawan Skywalker even had he been in the Temple. Those deep blue eyes had a troubling tendency to go rock hard, a piercing gaze that warned one to back off when pressed on certain matters. Ever since Geonosis, he had seemed troubled under his armor of indifference. Harboring secrets, or secret pain, none knew. Not even his master knew, from the occasional troubled glances cast in his direction.

Many believed it was due to the loss of his arm. Not all were so convinced. Some thought it had to do with his reckless rush against Dooku, a precipitous action that nearly resulted in his master's death. Master Kenobi didn't hold it against his apprentice, it seemed; few repercussions had followed. Not a few of his fellow padawans wondered why. None dared to ask.

That air of regret and sorrow perhaps betrayed an internal conflict that none understood, perhaps his penance for disobeying a direct order, self-inflicted. Having come so close to losing his master, the padawan seemed almost protective of him now, bristling at what he deemed intrusive questions regarding either one of the pair.

Knight Tachi now – dared he approach her? Should he, even? Had he that right, to satisfy curiosity?

It was with some trepidation he decided to ask and find out just what was known and what was hoped – and why.

Perhaps he should swallow his question, his need to know and understand. He had no right to intrude on private grief, or private hopes. But only the day prior, he had stricken the names of three Jedi off the Order's roster; one had been a senior padawan he knew slightly and one had been Master Kulik's first apprentice. Outwardly calm, his master's distress had shaken the bond and the current apprentice.

There had been far too many deaths, too many Jedi gone home to the Force, too many black ribbons on doors. If just one life – one man – one Jedi – was counted dead in error, if only one….just one life wrested back from the Force….

"Knight Tachi, might I have a word with you?" Padawan Terzah approached slowly, half-afraid to voice his thoughts as the knight strode through the corridors, but surely if she were speaking openly of Master Kenobi's supposed death, he surely had no need to avoid speaking his name to her.

He was quite certain the pain he'd felt come through the Force upon confirming Master Kenobi's death had come from her – how would she react to him now, his question – even though she had been heard speaking of him? He had no wish to inflict further pain than he had before.

"Padawan Terzah." The knight's blue eyes were questioning, but showed no anger or grief as she paused, her eyes flickering to his empty hands and away.

"I caused you pain – before – I'm sorry."

The slight quaver in his voice brought a half-smile to her face. "Your news hurt me, not you, Terzah, but thank you. Your compassion does you credit. You remind of – a padawan I knew once long ago who was prone to apologize for anything under the sun."

Terzah dropped his eyes, for it was clear who the knight was speaking of, then raised them to meet her eye to eye. If any Jedi would know, Siri Tachi would. "Is it true that – that you – that some Jedi believe Master Kenobi is alive?" There, it was out in the open.

Her eyes widened and she looked steadily at him.

"A few – a very few of us – feel that he must be," the Jedi answered carefully. "We don't believe the evidence is conclusive either way, so for now, we rely on our feeling."

"Feel – like through the Force?" Terzah was confused. "But the Council – they act as if he's dead; they had his records deactivated and held a memorial service for him. He is dead as far as the Order is concerned."

Dead, but never forgotten by at least some, he felt sure. The Council had not announced his replacement on the Council, nor had the Council as yet appointed a new master for his padawan. Was it possible that the Council itself harbored secret doubts as to his death, doubts the Council members would not admit even to themselves?

Or had the replacement been killed before the announcement had been made? Several masters had died since Master Kenobi, each killed in battle and properly honored in turn.

"Padawan Skywalker and I don't sense Master Kenobi in the Force, padawan. It's that we feel we'd know from the bonds we have – Anakin with his master and I with him as a childhood friend. When strong bonds or those of long duration are violently severed, one simply knows. If something were to happen to your master, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"I – I think so." Terzah and his master didn't have the strongest bond in the Temple, nothing approaching that between Master Kenobi and his padawan, or that rumored to have been between Master Jinn and then Padawan Kenobi. Those bonds had been a subject of much admiration and discussion amongst some of the Jedi. Both pairs were known to have actually conversed through the bonds, a rarity indeed.

"When Master Kulak had that kidney stone, you knew it, right?"

Terzah nodded in understanding. "Just like I knew when she finally saw the healer and had it taken care of, though I was nowhere near her and in fact off planet at the time."

"That's right. Anakin and I feel that Obi-Wan - Master Kenobi - is still alive, because we _didn't_ feel that he died. That's the only reason we believe, even if our minds tell us he could not have survived."

That had a logic to it that brought a ray of hope to Terzah's heart. He hadn't dared to believe the whispers he had heard, had barely gained the courage to face one of the Jedi seemingly most affected by the Jedi's death and risk hurting her a second time. He had had this need to know that was stronger.

Master Kenobi was one of the best examples of a Jedi that Terzah could think of; one with humility to match his confidence, wisdom to match his skills and a sense of humor to offset his otherwise restrained personality. The Order needed leaders like him, surely the Force knew that.

"I hope you are right – did you know he spent his last night before he left for – for Jabiim – helping me understand this treaty negotiation we were studying? A man who believed so passionately in diplomacy before violence should not die by violence."

The earnestness in Terzah's voice was something else that reminded Siri of Padawan Kenobi. She wondered if they shared the same dry sense of humor.

"No one should die by violence, padawan. Not even those who have no compunction against violent action, unless there is no other means. That is why the Jedi find this war so frightening: it means diplomacy has failed. What is sad is that negotiations are not continuing, as if both sides have determined not to find a solution other than in blood."

The blood that was shed was never that of those who refused to negotiate. Those who pressed for war never partook. The blood that the Jedi shed, and the blood of those whose blood they shed, was never on the politicians hands – they who remained safely aloof from the death and dying.

While the politicians stood firm in their resolve to "not negotiate," living beings suffered. They died. Too many – the innocent, those who had pledged themselves to the service of others – even, it seemed, Obi-Wan, if the "facts" were accepted. Obi-Wan Kenobi, "the Negotiator" who sought diplomatic solutions, found death in battle, or so the majority of the galaxy believed.

Someday, even perhaps Terzah, this solemn and dutiful young man standing before her, would fall in battle. Siri hoped not.

Terzah took a deep breath and confessed, "I hope when this war is over, if I am alive, that I may follow in Master Kenobi's footsteps. I am sure Master Kulak and I will be sent to a battlefield within the next few months when I finish my coursework. Master Kenobi really helped me understand the importance of finding peaceful solutions that night, no matter how frustrating or time consuming the process."

He hadn't even realized – not until he had thanked Master Kenobi for taking the time to help him with the coursework - that it was the man's last night on leave before returning to the war. Master Kulik had thanked the Jedi and wished him a speedy end to the campaign; her "May the Force be with you" had been returned with a small bow. Terzah had been apologetic, but Master Kenobi had reassured him with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye.

"Not to worry, Terzah, I'm all packed and you kept my mind off the war for an evening. It is I who should be thanking you."

"Th...thank you, sir – and be safe," he had blurted out. Only a week later, he had been striking the Jedi's name off the active roster and placing a black band over his nameplate.

He hadn't realized until later that it was Master Kenobi himself who had handled that particular negotiation with such a delicate and sure hand and realized why every so often the Jedi would seem to hide a grin when questioned on some obscure detail that never fazed him.

"Was that the Astari treaty? He would get a lot of amusement out of helping you through the intricacies of that one – did you know he was the negotiator who finally got all sides to agree to that? Even his patience was tested on that one. When he came back, well, I'll let you in a secret – he just about wiped out the Temple's remotes in a fury of training."

"He didn't meditate the stress away?" Terzah was wide-eyed at the thought of Master Kenobi needing an outlet for frustration, for the Jedi seemed one of the most even-tempered Jedi in the Order.

Siri winked. "He said he'd spent all of his free time during the negotiations meditating to get him through it. When he got back to the Temple, he wanted something a bit quicker – I think he called it 'aggressive meditation.' It worked, though."

* * *

Crusted blood glued one eye half-shut as Alpha roused from his brief sleep. Just because clones were relatively immune to pain did not in any way mean they felt none or any of the associated weakness and weariness that accompanied it. It was possible that pain strong enough to kill a clone could break through preprogrammed orders, but since that very degree of pain would kill the clone, that method was somewhat impracticable.

Face to face with his enemy, unable to carry out his mandate to kill or otherwise neutralize those designated as Enemies of the Republic, Alpha fumed. He was not meant to repeat the same phrases over and over, doing nothing. He was bred for action and he was bred to protect his leaders.

He still struggled to free himself, coolly calculating how to proceed once he found success. He would have his best chance to escape and free his general if he faced only Aidus, for he knew from experience that a Force-user was incredibly adept at reacting fast – even faster than his well-honed reflexes.

He had already lost a certain amount of muscle, which would affect his strength and stamina as well. He was beginning to see the tracery of ribs in his chest, an unusual sight for a well-muscled man such as he. Aidus was physically similar in build, and thus in better shape currently, but he wasn't a trained ARC Trooper and his battle skills, while undoubtedly decent, could not be at the same level as his. Alpha's whole life had been devoted to training for battle, with few distractions otherwise.

He decided to greet his captors with a glare as they entered, sure the expression would be even fiercer with the scars now marking his face.

"I'm Advanced -."

"Shut up, clone." Ventress snapped.

"…Recon Commander A-17 -."

"Shut up!" Ventress nodded to Aidus, who then stalked forward as Alpha shut up. It wasn't the time to provoke either one of his captors. Too late. He doubled up as Aidus's fist slammed into him several times, before the man stepped back and casually crossed his arms.

He hoped his "oomph" and twisted expression conveyed an appropriate response, one he didn't really feel. Perhaps if his captors took out their aggression on him, his general would fare better in turn, though he doubted it. He'd overheard enough to worry him.

Kenobi was suffering on many levels. Not just abused, but assaulted by the Force, weakened by poison, yet somehow finding the strength or stubbornness to fight back with steadfast resolve and his trademark dry humor, or so he gathered as he listened to his jailors. The accuracy of the information was suspect; he feared not. If it hadn't happened yet it would soon.

"Clone, I know who you are and I don't want to hear it – I want answers. Either or both of you should have broken by now. I am not a patient woman and I am not willing to wait much longer. Believe me; things can get much worse for you. So tell me, where are the Republic foundries?"

"I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

"Where are the advanced hospital facilities?"

"I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release that information."

Without taking her eyes off him, Ventress addressed her aide. "Aidus, you've been wanting a workout. Give him a taste of what his general will suffer."

Under the circumstances, Alpha figured there was only one thing he could do. Make his general proud. Standing as tall as a chained prisoner could, Alpha reiterated, "I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi –and I need more than a 'taste' of food to fill my stomach."

As he watched a fist fly towards him, he decided he just didn't quite get humor yet.

_

* * *

_. If he repeated it often enough, he might even persuade himself. He felt more exhausted, truth be told, than pain-wracked, no matter the wounds on his body that would seem to contradict that assessment. 

The Force was still his ally, and if his ability to tap into it was diminished, it was not absent from him.

He still managed to drain off most of his pain and confusion into the Force. Weak as his connection was, and steadily weakening, a Jedi was able to withstand much.

Even a Jedi, though, could only withstand so much before the connection was clouded and the Force ineffective. Obi-Wan wasn't at the end of his tether, far from it, so he still found a certain success in alleviating his pain.

As was inevitable, such success had a cost and the cost was the increasing drain on his strength – the more he held himself together, the quicker he was falling apart.

He had a secret weapon: Asajj herself. Powerful, indeed, but her training was incomplete, her power stronger than her skill; she was no match in many respects for even a weakened Jedi master, much to Obi-Wan's surprise and relief. Even as the Force swirled around them, energies entwining and clashing during their contests of will, he was able to slowly siphon off a measure of her Force strength to reinforce his own all too shaky strength.

Inevitably, there came the times when his strength was exhausted and unreleased pain clamored for his attention.

Such times came more frequently as time passed.

* * *

The Force had accepted many home this day, departed from Jabiim for all time.

For a mere moment, the rain had stopped, hesitant to break the hush that lay below. Rain was life, so without life, how could there be rain?

There now was no one to hear the soft patter of raindrops, but then as if with a soft gasp, the rain felt life among the lifeless, and as if letting out its breath, it sought again to give what had so nearly disappeared. Gentle drops fell, like tears, caressing the cold cheeks of the fallen, sliding over plasti-steel coatings, and kissing the brow of the once living.

Silence had fallen in this corner of Jabiim. It was not the silence of peace, but of cessation of violence. The lips of the dead no longer spoke, the eyes that once saw were now blank, and the hands that once held weapons now held only eternity.

What had been a battlefield not long before; full of movement and screams, hoarse orders, and the sound of blaster bolts was now an open grave. Silence replaced the noise of battle, smoke curled from the ruins of the machines of war. Troops once locked in battle were now locked in the rictus of violent death.

This Republic force on Jabiim was wiped out. Within that vast carnage crouched just one man, neither knowing nor caring that a few others approached.

His eyes swiveled around him. So much death…clone troops in disorderly rows of white, tumbled every which way, playing pieces on a game board of life and death…Jedi, padawans to knights, sprawled in mud but whose spirits were now one with the Force...he looked down and touched the cheek of the padawan at his feet. Young, so young … smooth cheeked, peacefully asleep in a slumber that was forever…his padawan, now never to be a knight.

His dying had not been easy, curling his body on his side in an attempt to stave off the pain. Death had been far kinder than the dying, turning the curl of tightly pressed lips into a half smile of acceptance. Drops from above pooled in an open palm, one turned to the sky, in silent supplication or benediction, and in that palm one could not discern drops from the sky from the tears from the face above.

"There is no pain…" General Norcuna whispered, his eyes affixed on the young Jedi at his feet, as he kneeled amongst his dead, "…there is only death."

Around him lay his entire force, wiped out. He was the only one left to mourn the dead, for the few minutes of life remaining to him – the last survivor, the last Jedi, for Death now stood at his shoulder: Commando Alto Stratus of the Jabiim Separatists.

Death could take him; the Jedi no longer cared for his own fate.

He gently brushed a hand over the young man's face, closing the open eyes. A padawan should not see his master's violent end, no matter that the padawan had already seen his own.

"No pain?" Stratus whispered, his rage tearing through the Force, anger dripping as spittle from the mouth of a Rancor. "My cousin died in pain – shot by your troops – crushed by your machines. _She_ knew the meaning of pain. Her pain was then mine as I held her broken body as she breathed her last. Jedi might not know the meaning of pain, but I do."

Stratus grabbed the general by his tail knot and jerked his head upright. "You shall know it now."

"There is no death, there is only the Force," General Norcuna said simply. He raised his eyes to those of Stratus, calm eyes meeting blazing ones. "I am sorry for your pain."

"Be sorry for your own," Stratus hissed.

A moment later he stood triumphant, a bloody blade in his hand, the last survivor alive no longer. Jedi General Norcuna lay dead at his feet – and Stratus smiled for one brief moment.

He re-sheathed his weapon as he looked down upon the prone body, suddenly scowling. The Jedi had died too easily, without one word of protest, one hand still clasped tight to that of the young Jedi at whose side he had collapsed. Whatever bonds had held the two still held in death as in life.

Accursed Jedi! A growl tore from his throat, a dagger of grief and betrayal that pierced the sky. His troops shifted uneasily behind him; their leader had grasped the enemy's heart and drenched the sodden ground in his blood - and found it was not enough.

His anger had not been appeased, instead it only grew. His world was shattered, its people dying because its people had been deemed unworthy of attention when it had been needed, abused by neglect – only to be invaded and its citizens slaughtered by invaders – the Republic's guardians of peace and their troops.

"The Jedi are nothing but the bearers of suffering and soon all our dead shall be avenged upon them, as I avenged my cousin upon you. I curse thee to eternity and may your kind soon vanish from the galaxy." He spat, carefully, on the entwined hands, and then turned to face his troops.

"Remove our wounded. If any of theirs remain, kill them, and let their bodies rot where they fell. Let them find destiny in the mouths and stomachs of scavengers."

He walked away without a backwards glance.

* * *

"Has "The Negotiator' given up so easily? Has that stubborn determination to rely on words surrendered to the reality of your existence?" Ventress lifted Obi-Wan's chin and gazed into clouded eyes.

The Jedi was steadily weakening, though not quickly enough for her. She had tried many and varied tactics to break him, done things to him that had brought outraged hisses and elicited physical reactions that he had stoically endured, but mere infliction of pain had never been her sole goal.

Kenobi would break. He would crawl at her feet, beg, scream…prove she was by far the stronger one. When she had proven herself, then Kenobi could die.

It was amusing to watch him take everything she gave without breaking – and yet breaking him was taking far too long. If she tired of the game, she might just kill him and be done with it. With Kenobi out of the way, one way or the other, her place was assured.

A sharp fingernail brushed over the captive's cracked lips. One of the Jedi's most potent weapons, it was his lips that gave voice to reason, to civility, to the end of disputes. Lips easily polluted. Lips she claimed with hers even as his eyes grew wide and angry, then she pulled away laughing softly as Kenobi glared at her.

Good, very good. He was upset and angry. She preferred fear, but any emotion that would drive the light from him would work to her advantage.

"No protest? No debating the 'proper treatment' of prisoners of war? What has happened to the great 'Negotiator'?"

Obi-Wan would not give her the satisfaction of a reply, not while he fought back the contempt he felt for her. Contempt was an ugly emotion, unworthy of a Jedi, yet one he felt stirrings of, mixed with the beginnings of anger.

He preferred to focus on fighting and releasing the emotions, not exchanging pointless and meaningless words with his captor.

When he chose to speak, it was his choice, not her taunts. Speaking hurt, for one thing.

Too many reasons lay behind his choice. Lack of food and water had made his throat dry and sore. Protests had only brought more pain and more indignities; took too much strength. He needed to focus on his physical well being rather than mustering arguments that went nowhere.

He had tried. In the beginning, he had tried, before weakening, when his mind had been clear and capable of formulating articulate thoughts and objections.

Now, he no longer tried.

But he had fought back with words, in the beginning. After all, even kidnapped, held captive and tortured, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been "The Negotiator" with the reputation of being able to charm the most stubborn of beings into reason.

When he had felt capable of it, he had tried to reason with Asajj, misgivings or no. He had, after all, been padawan to one of the most stubborn Jedi ever known to the Order and as such had begun honing his skills as a teenager. He had found, however, that a stubborn Jedi master and a twisted Force-user were rather different beings.

Keeping silent did not protect him from torment, just as speaking did not. The trick was in knowing when to do one or the other, a trick he had not yet mastered. It was a trick that perhaps could not be mastered.

"Why?" He no longer tried to reason with her, only reach her.

No matter what she did to him, or Alpha, somehow he was sure she could not be driven by pure evil. Pure evil might well exist, but he had yet to meet it.

"You don't want to do this, do you? You just want to take your pain away – I can – I will - help you, oh…" he clamped his lips shut as agony shot up his arm.

"What do you know of pain, Kenobi? You want to take my pain – take this."

He bit his lip as pain crawled up his other arm, feeling bitter drops upon them as he wetted his tongue.

"I don't…understand. Why this hatred for me?" he caught his breath, continued as he breathed out the pain. "I thought – you hated Anakin, but instead – ah!"

With a twisted smile on her lips, Ventress coolly eyed him. "You're right, I hated Anakin Skywalker. Hated, but no more, for Jabiim fell and all the Jedi are dead. All of them, including Anakin Skywalker."

He was sure the blood drained from his face and his heart stopped beating – for a moment he forgot to breathe. "No…no," he tried to put utter reassurance in his voice, and release an intense hate that suddenly overwhelmed him. He hated her – and just as quickly, the hate was breathed out as he remembered hating the Sith who killed his master. Hate had not given him strength, hate had only given him that illusion, but letting go of it was what saved him.

Hate was what chained him here and hate was what hurt him. Hate was what let Asajj release her own pain by inflicting it on others. Hate only lead to pain and suffering – he could not hate.

"May he find peace in the Force," he whispered, putting as much grief and pain into his voice as he could, for once he had let go of his hate, he knew the truth. Nothing had changed, the bond was still dormant, and Ventress was playing on his fears. For now, he would let her think she succeeded, since there had to be a reason for her deception.

Anakin surely knew he was alive, for the same reason he knew Anakin was alive. Anakin was all right, had to be all right at least physically, for their bond was merely silenced, not severed.

Deep inside himself, Obi-Wan knew what she did not yet know: Anakin was one of his greatest weaknesses, as well as one of his greatest strengths. He had to prepare himself for the possibility of letting that go, for should she discover this, he had no choice but to let Anakin go.

Letting go was the essence of a Jedi. Let everything go, let the Force do its will. Let hate go, let Anakin go, perhaps Alpha, too. Let go of himself, if necessary, for all he needed to hang onto was the Force itself. And so, because he had a part to play, and a possibility he had to face, he let a few tears glisten in his eyes.

Asajj only had to think they were real. He only pretended they weren't.


	13. A Bad Taste

In moments of silence the suffering of the long dead ghosts could be heard.

In between those moments, the gasps and moans of a man in pain could be heard. It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that man was himself.

He sounded as bad as he felt, then. He wondered just how bad Alpha was feeling – or if his fellow captive was even alive. He, at least, had the Force with him, clouded though the connection was. It soothed the worst of the pains and allowed him to hold his head high, to fight, and to hope.

It couldn't, however, totally prevent the wash of tears or the low moans when a blow struck too deep. The tears he shed came from the man, not the Jedi, for the flesh could be seared and the flesh could be wounded; the body could not be as well commanded as the heart and the mind. The few tears he shed were not just from himself, for himself, but also for those so twisted and broken that they would do these things to him, to Alpha, to those who had come before him and to those who would come after him.

Let the body writhe in pain if necessary, for the hard part while held captive and brutalized was staying strong mentally. He would quietly endure the unendurable and suffer the insufferable, but he would not break, not as long as the Force was his ally.

It, however, also seemed bound within these walls, stuck between a positive and negative polarity; between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Asajj Ventress. The most important part of him stayed well shielded behind walls that were only starting to crumble, but walls propped up by stubborn determination as well as by the Force.

He would not fall; he would not falter. He would find a way to escape; even now, as he had been all along, he studied his options and his surroundings, trying, always trying, to free himself.

For the moment, it was quiet in that cell; the tortured gasps of a man trying to hang onto consciousness and sanity having eased somewhat. The occasional drip of moisture – plop – plop – was almost too quiet to hear above his harsh breathing and then the sudden cough.

A mouthful of blood from his nose had hit the back of his throat; the Jedi gagged and tried to spit it out. He rarely had nosebleeds, but knew how much they could bleed if unchecked as this had been. Far too much had dripped, crawling over his lips, falling into his half-open mouth from which he drew ragged breaths.

The thought that Ventress claimed to be holding back was rather a frightening thought, for what he was undergoing was far from pleasant and rather painful on a number of levels. The most disturbing was the effect on his Force senses.

They were, admittedly, nearly non-existent now, blocked by pain, fatigue and malnutrition - and Ventress. She had enough Force strength, raw and partially trained, to stand against him even from a distance. He had enough cunning and skill to supplement his fading strength by tapping into her use of the Force.

In between bouts of bodily reactions to recently ceased abuse, in those moments he managed to catch his breath and try to concentrate on something beside himself, he still tried to stretch out with his Jedi senses anyway. There was so much despair and pain in these depths that clouded the Force, and fighting past them seemed all but impossible. Like sought like, pain sought pain, rage sought to awaken his own rage.

The dead called to him, their hate and rage sought to bind to the still living victim.

Their hate, hers, was wakening his, and it was harder and harder to resist its siren call. Resisting the urge to hate his tormenter was almost as strong a compulsion as his attempts to repair the damage to his body.

_Her hate may destroy you Kenobi, but your own shall surely do so, chaining you in bonds of darkness. Better to be destroyed, than to destroy yourself. Die if you must, but at her hands, not your own hate_.

There was one way to combat rage and anger, always: turn his thoughts and his focus elsewhere.

Admittedly, it was hard at times like this.

No sooner had he coughed out the blood then his shoulders twitched, drawing in against a sudden chill, a tingle of ice up his spine.

Cold air, a hint of dampness, had long ago settled on his bare skin and burrowed down to his bones, a chill that not even the warmth of pooling blood could lessen. The occasional scraps of food forced into his mouth to keep him alive, barely, was not enough for his body to generate any heat of its own.

Another shudder tickled up his spine.

_I'm going to catch my death of cold in here shortly_, Obi-Wan thought with a less-than-amused grunt. _What a heroic death that will be – I'll never live it down. _

The tremors and chills might have been the residue of unreleased pain, rather than the damp chill, but in truth it made no difference. Not all his pain could be released to the Force, not in the time he was allowed to recuperate. He was cold, always cold now, warmth only a memory, for nothing warmed him now, not even the unwelcome surges of anger each time Ventress or Aidus appeared in the doorway or the increasing effort he had to put into defeating such thoughts.

They had left not long before, long enough for him to breath out some of the pain and most of the anger, long enough for the steady trickle of blood to coalesce into weeping crusts.

The door swung open again, heavy footsteps came towards him. Time to feed the captive again, he knew, hardly caring. Vile, slimy something utterly lacking in taste appeal or nutritional value, welcome only because food and the occasional dribble of water into his mouth kept him alive. It gave him hope. So long as there was life, there was hope – hope to escape, hope to be rescued. Hope was a very useful emotion at the moment, coupled with sheer stubborn determination and iron will.

It was a bit of surprise for Obi-Wan to realize that his stubborn determination at the moment was to keep his mouth shut and refuse the, well, refuse. His sense of danger shrilled just a moment later as he pressed his jaw shut.

Now his "bad feelings" were warning him before the Force itself did. Not a good sign.

"None of that now," a voice admonished him. "Gotta eat and keep your strength up, you know."

A burly hand pinched and pried at his jaw line, trying to force him to open his mouth. Just as stubbornly, Obi-Wan refused to give in, clenching his jaw so tightly that he could feel the ache in his jawbone thudding outwards and upwards.

Inevitably, the physically stronger man won, and he forced something within Obi-Wan's mouth. Something tickled at his throat; his mind shocked to attention and his stomach tried to empty itself – of something that hadn't even reached it yet. His eyes tried their best to snap open, but could only manage a bleary slit.

Until it moved.

Whatever it was wiggled and twisted towards the back of his throat. It was _alive_ and Obi-Wan's eyes went wide with revulsion even as the Force swirled madly, strangely insistent that he not swallow anything. Burning acid was scrolling up his throat, spilling into his mouth…he had to rid himself of whatever-it-was.

"Damn," the guard swore, stepping back a pace just in time to avoid getting splattered.

"Not – food," Obi-Wan gasped as his stomach slowly stopped churning.

The guard looked down at the bowl and stirred the squirming mass with a dirty finger.

"Not my idea of food," he shrugged. "But it is what you get; this time, you'll keep 'em down. I have my orders."

The grubs crawled around, a wiggling mess and Obi-Wan stared in mixed horror and fascination. What he wouldn't give to have Anakin here – that boy ate anything and everything. He would probably enjoy it, too.

He took that thought back as soon as the guard nonchalantly expounded on his so-called meal.

"Just like these here muscle maggots is food to you, you are food to these little critters. So, they fill your belly and at the same time, they eat your innards – you might call it a -whatchacallit – symbiotic circle of life. You both get fed and you both get dead."

"Thank you, but I would prefer to starve." He did his best to stand with dignity, but with his stomach once again dancing around worse than it did when flying second seat at his padawan's side in some insane flying stunt, it was all he could do to just turn his eyes away.

"I've got my orders, and you're making it difficult," the guard rebuked, his voice brusque and unfriendly. He set the bowl down and walked over to the discarded pile of mud-caked clothing. Wrinkling his nose and toeing the pile, he rummaged through the rotting cloth until he found a suitable piece. With a grunt of disgust, he yanked at a tear to separate the sleeve from the tunic to use as a gag, loosely coiling it within one hand.

The Jedi wrinkled his own nose; caked with blood and mud in that damp environment it smelled worse than when it had been actually worn as clothing. If they insisted on

torturing him, it would be nice if it involved water, to get the stench and grime washed off him. He itched all over.

"I'm trying to make it impossible," he muttered; his jaw clamped shut as the guard picked up the bowl and advanced towards him again.

"Eat up. None of that, now," the guard warned again; he squeezed the Jedi's nose shut with one hand, the balled up cloth in his palm, as the other held grubs ready to be slipped in as soon as Obi-Wan succumbed to the need to breathe.

_No, no, no_…Obi-Wan refused to open his mouth, shaking his head side to side to dislodge the hand cutting off his air. His gaze grew hazy with the lack of oxygen; the one guard separated into two, then dissolved into mere blobs. He suddenly doubled over, or would have had not the chains restrained him, when a knee slammed into his stomach.

"Oomph," exploded from him with an involuntary inhalation - and let in a repellent mouthful. Prepared to take advantage of any opportunity, Obi-Wan didn't hesitate to strike as the guard carelessly thrust in several more grubs with forefinger and thumb, unaware that one should be mindful, even around a captive Jedi.

Obi-Wan's teeth sunk deep, ripping through skin and ligament in a desperate attempt to free his mouth and spit out the mouthful. The errant digits were roughly jerked back with a yell of surprised pain, though the guard retained enough presence of mind to not entirely let go of the Jedi's head.

Swearing, a crooked and rapidly swelling finger held stiffly to the side, the guard shifted his grip hurriedly to pinch Obi-Wan's nose with his other fingers as at the same time his thumbs dug into his chin, holding the Jedi's jaw shut and entrapping his face in a cage of bone and flesh.

Obi-Wan's throat became a battleground between his windpipe and his esophagus, one needing to inhale air and one needing to expel grubs.

While he thrashed, the guard's eyes bored into Obi-Wan, promising retribution for the damaged fingers. He held his grip on the Jedi's face, until Obi-Wan's only choices were to pass out, choke or swallow.

He swallowed.

A moment later his stomach protested and what went down tried valiantly to come back up. At the same time, the gag was quickly stuffed into his mouth and the ends roughly tied behind his head. With the gag firmly in place, he couldn't rid himself of the noxious things. Glaring in frustration, Obi-Wan fought to keep the rising bile down; he didn't want to choke in his own vomit and that was almost certainly what would happen should his stomach overrule his will.

_You've lost this round, Kenobi, but it's not time to panic, not yet. You'll think of something._

"Too bad Ventress isn't here to see the fear in your eyes," the guard taunted. "She was beginning to wonder if you were capable of it. What about pain – do you feel that, Jedi? I owe you for my fingers." Glaring at the Jedi, he held up his hand, the finger still dripping blood; the thumb apparently only bruised. Obi-Wan's bite had gone deep.

"Pay back time," he growled, setting the bowl down. He moved behind Obi-Wan, his bound hands taken into rough hands, the touch anything but gentle. Slowly and deliberately, the guard changed his grip, taking first one, than the other, between his own.

_Snap_.

_Snap_.

The two cracks were sharp and sudden. "That's for biting me," he smirked.

Obi-Wan barely noticed; the pain was sudden and intense, but just one more layer to fight through. He had far more important considerations at the moment than mere broken bones. Bones would heal.

If he didn't die of poisoning first.

His mind was busy at work, trying to quell the rising panic and fear. There was a solution, there had to be, there always was, if he only calmed himself and thought.

How did one combat an internal parasite? Only the Force could help him now. He had to be calm, but how could one be calm when maggots were already crawling towards his organs, eating him from the inside out?

The guard left without him even noticing; his focus was on his breathing only. _Breathe out the fear, breathe out the panic…breathe…don't think of the maggots eating away at you. _

Fear and near panic had replaced all other considerations for the moment, but he had to get beyond them: start to think, not react. Only by thinking of a solution could he save himself. Emotions were just an unnecessary distraction to what needed to be done.

As his mind wrested control and the adrenaline and bile subsided, he found that state of calm, one where he could think of a way to protect himself. At last he knew what to do; the problem was he didn't know _how_. Somehow, he would find a way.

He fought a battle deep within himself, one he knew he would win, because he had to. There was simply no other acceptable option.

Killing and neutralizing the maggots within his system was delicate and intensive work, something he should not have been capable of in his current condition. It would be difficult at the best of times, for working on the cellular level was a healer's ability, not his. The Force could be wielded with surgical precision, carving as delicately as a scalpel in the right hands.

In his hands, it was a bludgeon, apt to injure his organs as well as the parasitic maggots. He had no other option: gag all he wanted, it was too late to expel the loathsome creatures from his system.

Exhaustion claimed him as soon as the battle was won.

Illness claimed him even while he slept an uneasy sleep.

He struggled awake with a throat inflamed and stomach cramps, a byproduct of the toxins that had attacked his system before he finally neutralized the maggots. There was no longer anything to expel from his stomach, though it tried valiantly, the sour fluid burning an already raw throat.

It would be truly ironic should he so damage his organs that he killed himself while trying to save himself.

There was one consolation: things couldn't get much worse.

* * *

Eyes gleaming in anticipation, Aidus joined Ventress as they headed towards the cells holding their captives.

"Is the Jedi breaking yet? Why don't you just kill him? After all, no one knows he's alive – not Count Dooku, not the Jedi. Just kill him and be done with it, so we can rejoin the others."

"He'll die soon enough," Ventress promised, scowling.

"But if Count Dooku doesn't know he's alive, he's no longer an obstacle to you. Just kill him." He gulped as Ventress whirled to face him, eyes blazing and lips pulled back.

"That is far too easy. I want revenge; I want him at my feet, sniveling. Jedi cowards. I deserve to be Count Dooku's apprentice – me, Aidus, not him." A long finger jabbed at Aidus. "Dooku sees something in him and I will prove to him that it's all an illusion, that Obi-Wan is weak and beneath contempt. He would never see that should Obi-Wan die."

* * *

He was pretty sure that nothing much worse could happen. Ventress could kill him, but that would almost be a relief, not that he wished to hurry it. His death, as his life, was in the hands of the Force.

Things were already pretty miserable. Obi-Wan tried shifting his weight slightly for the chains that held him upright pulled his arms behind his shoulders taut; the strain on neck and shoulders was intense. The only relief he could find was to rotate his head sideways and back and forth. There was no relief for cramped leg muscles for his toes barely touched the floor, unable to take much more than a little of his body weight off his upper body.

Ventress would be back soon. Ventress and Aidus both, still thinking pain and poison would bend him to whatever they seemed determined to bend him to.

He knew now that rescue would have to be at his own hands. Anakin would have come by now had he a clue where to go. Not even duty would hold his padawan back when someone close to him was in danger. Personal loyalty came before principle and it came before duty.

It also tread uncomfortably close to attachment. In war, one just could not sacrifice the many for the few. The Jedi and their clone troops fought for democracy and they fought for the fractured Republic. They fought for what was _right_: not personal loyalty to others, but loyalty to principle. Democracy stood or it fell, guarded only by its defenders' willingness to sacrifice all to sustain it.

If his death – his and Alpha's both – ensured that others would live, that Jabiim would not fall to the Separatists, then their lives would not be a sacrifice, their deaths not in vain. Obi-Wan would rather rot here, have his suffering join the ghosts that haunted this place, than be free at the expense of other's freedom.

Far better he shed blood and tears, than those who needed the Jedi to defend them. He had shed plenty in the time he had been here. One only had to look down.

His gaze followed his thoughts, down. Down his chest, a patchwork of welts and bruises, of burns and cuts. Down lower, past his abdomen; further down.

He stared at his toes, dark with crusted blood. Asajj had seen fit to leave a modicum of light in the cell. Its feeble illumination allowed him to track Asajj's assaults upon his front side, for he had been thoroughly and completed stripped long before the physical abuse had replaced the attempts at mental persuasion. No torn tunics or leggings hid the wounds she inflicted, sopped up the welling blood or concealed jagged wounds.

He had no doubt that the dim light was a psychological ploy, meant for him to see his own destruction, much as the earlier darkness was meant to leave him cowering in fear of the unseen attacks. Little did Ventress know that the sight of his own wounds never affected him, only the sight of wounds inflicted on others had that power.

If anything, he decided after due consideration, he felt worse than he looked, for twisted and meandering trails of red hid many of the marks underneath, mute testimony of damage hidden beneath the outward patterns of pain.

Not all, though.

Asajj was an artist, her tool torture and her palette pain, for she had delighted in carving patterns made of bruises, lacerations and punctures, painting his body in shades of splotchy yellow and purple streaked with red and brown. She had made him into a Sith masterpiece, a tapestry, worthy of being framed he sometimes thought, a canvas that was a living body painted in pain and one already hung for display.

A rather sloppy artist, too, he decided, considering the splotches extended beyond his toes.

The sound of the door opening slowly drew his eyes upwards and he blinked, bringing his attention back to the moment - not that he really wanted to be in the moment, he admitted privately. Dreams were his refuge, thoughts of escape his constant companion.

Asajj strode directly over to him, while Aidus, licking his lips in anticipation, moved behind him. Unable to look in two directions at once, Obi-Wan kept his blurry attention focused on Asajj. No matter which of them did what to him, and both had done plenty he wished they had not; she was the true evil here.

His eyes widened in sudden realization: icy shudders running up and down his spine as his mind came to full alert, shaking off a web spun of dread and realization.

He no longer thought of her as a living being, but a symbol of evil. _She was evil _– and that went against everything he thought he believed in. _She_ was not evil, but her _actions_. She _did_ evil, but was not, herself. He was truly losing himself if he could believe that

None of the pain he had endured so far was as loathsome and abhorrent to him as the idea that Obi-Wan Kenobi was not the man, the Jedi, that he thought he was. He didn't hate, he had let go of anger long ago, yet both emotions had crept into his heart and mind without his recognition or rejection of the same. It shook him: this was not the man he thought he was; this was against his very definition of who he was in the deepest core of himself. Ventress had exposed more than just his physical body, but his very self.

"No," he muttered. _Try again, Kenobi, that was a pathetic denial!_

"No, not evil." This time the words were slow and distinct. "Don't – hate you."

"Why not?" Asajj was clearly surprised – and disappointed.

"Wrong. Hate is – wrong. Let go…let it go."

He let it go, flow into the Force, his focus only on releasing his emotions.

Surprise warred with disgust on Asajj's face as she studied the Jedi. A taloned hand lifted his chin and stared into his red-rimmed eyes. "You continue to defy me, Obi-Wan. What must I do to you to make you crawl at my feet?"

"Loosen my chains," he suggested, wondering if it was even possible to make the muscles cooperate in such an endeavor even if he had been remotely inclined to do so. "Just free me or kill me."

"A quick death is too easy for you, and not satisfying for me. You're an obstacle to what I want, and you'll pay for that."

"I still don't understand…make me understand. Why do you hate me, why do you try to make me hate you? I refuse to hate you, I choose to release it. You don't need to hate, me or anyone. What has hurt you so badly that you consider torture an exercise in personal satisfaction? You can overcome your hate, Asajj, if you face it."

Down deep, he wondered who he was trying to reach – her – or himself. Force help him, it was so difficult to release the hate he felt when his body writhed in pain and his mind shrieked in agony.

"You will crawl at my feet, Obi-Wan."

"If you release me, I'll fall on them. Is that a satisfactory…compromise?" That he could handle. Lying prone on the floor, the weight off his shoulders…he was more than willing. Force knew lying still was probably all he was capable of until his muscles loosened up, anyway.

"Ever 'The Negotiator.'"

He almost laughed, for "The Negotiator" had no desire to negotiate, only to fight back. Had he a lightsaber in his hand, he would find it hard to restrain himself; she would soon find its tip in her heart and her body lying at his feet. No, his enemy was not Asajj. Not any longer.

It was the darkness lurking within him.


	14. Revelations

**Author's Note: This is loosely based on Dark Horse comics - all things that happen to Obi-Wan and Alpha are taken from that and expanded upon. Everything - poison, maggots and all.**

**Fair warning for several chapters ahead, based on feedback on another site: this is going to go somewhat on a vergence from canon and Chapter 17, I believe, sets that up. A few readers were unhappy with that set up (Jedi and attachments, etc., but is based on some very interesting board "conversations" I read).**

_A Jedi does not hate. But when one does, one must acknowledge it to defeat it, for the danger is not in feeling it, but in not facing it. When one can't resist - one must accept it, let it move through one and be breathed out – released – never acted upon. Let it go, Kenobi, let it go, even if just for now._

Reminding himself of what he knew worked. Hate and anger wasn't defeated, only banished, and that, no doubt, only temporarily. For now, that was all he was capable of. It would have to do.

Fighting an internal battle against both poisonous grubs and poisonous thoughts only made Obi-Wan husband what remained of his strength for when it was needed, some part of it already turned to working on a possible escape. Another part of it had to be used, now, a part that could steal strength from elsewhere; a reward worth the risk.

Head bowed, he remained impassive as Asajj Force-probed him, all the while stealing pathetic shreds of Force to reinforce his own Force power after the immense output he had just put into neutralizing the maggots. Caught up in a mix of surprise and unwilling admiration for his accomplishment, Ventress missed his skillful siphoning, clumsy though he felt it to be.

"Obi-Wan, you don't seem well – your heart is racing and your nerves seem to be twitching – could it be a reaction to your last meal? Venomous little creatures – they secret a toxin almost immediately upon being ingested, one that strikes quickly but not as quickly as the little maggots themselves."

"Served so charmingly, too," he muttered, unable to help himself.

"Of course, the poison won't kill you; you'll be dead long before that, begging for death even before that. These tiny creatures are almost all mouth, and they love to get their little fangs into muscles and organs. Unless given an antidote – something to kill the maggots before then - your organs will be slowly devoured until they are incapable of sustaining life. Your life – and unfortunately, theirs, too."

Perhaps he should display at least a hint of fear, let her think she had been successful. That would be easy; just remember how he had felt when he had realized what the maggots were capable of. Let the eyes open a bit, shake the head as if in denial before wiping your face clear of all expression as if donning your calm Jedi façade.

"Your skin crawls does it not, Obi-Wan? The adrenaline in your blood only spurs the creatures on…feel them, Obi-Wan? Feel their little mouths ripping tiny chunks out of your heart, your liver? Feel them crawling, nibbling, riding the currents of your bloodstream to where they rip tiny holes in the vessels to find what they seek? Your nerves are afire, the poison crawls through you, does it not?"

"How – perceptive of you." The words were just a diversion, for Ventress seemed on the verge of feeling his touch stealing against her Force power.

He felt truly sick, aware of how close he had come to suffering the fate Ventress had described. No wonder the Force had been so insistent he not eat the creatures.

The maggots were no more, but it had taken time to kill them, time for their venom to sink into his cells. His flesh did crawl as if with the touch of a thousand fire ants on every exposed centimeter of skin – and the interior as well. Sometimes he shuddered as if the life was being sucked from him cell by living cell by flaming parasites, despite their destruction.

Not enough toxins to kill him, he understood that instinctively, for the Force had stopped shrilling its alarms long ago. No, this reaction would pass, in time; even should he do nothing to counteract it

There was little he could do about it now. Later, perhaps, after the next chance to recover enough to channel more healing energy into his body.

"You're a pretty pathetic figure of a man by now, all skin and bones," Asajj observed, her tone as deceptively gentle as the long fingers trailing across his tensed shoulders, down his chest where the rib bones were now visible, lower yet where her hand remained poised as if to do something clearly less than pleasant to a tender part of him.

"Crude matter," he corrected hoarsely, thinking of Yoda's lectures he remembered from his younger days. "The outer shell of the luminous being inside."

"Still easily hurt, Obi-Wan, easily hurt and what the body feels, the mind, too feels, as shall yours. Even the knowledge of what the maggots are doing to you, even now, do not hasten your descent into darkness. Even now, you defy me, knowing death awaits you. I am losing patience with you; you will succumb. Aidus, teach our Jedi that lack of cooperation results in unpleasantness – do something that both his body and mind will long remember."

The snapped ends of broken fingers grated, bone against bone, as Aidus moved close behind him, so close that his body pressed the Jedi's bound hands towards his back.

Obi-Wan felt the grinding of bones, only now really registering the fractures that had almost gone unnoticed when incurred, but even that pain was soon to be overwhelmed.

Aidus's arm came around his neck, immobilizing him as his elbow pressed against the soft skin of his throat, almost collapsing his windpipe. He could feel the man's hot breath on the back of his neck, as his other arm encircled him lower down and the Jedi stiffened at the unwelcome hands upon him even as he struggled to get air in his lungs and spots danced in front of his eyes from the pressure upon his throat.

_Not again_.

He was never sure what happened next. He only knew it drew a strangled scream from him before he clamped his mouth shut.

_Force, that hurts_! Lancing pain erupted through Obi-Wan and he gasped, unbidden tears streaming from his eyes as he panted in short, hard breaths, trying to breathe out the pain and trying to get air in his lungs. _Oh, Force, what had Aidus done?_ It hurt, too badly to pinpoint, to try to heal.

Asajj merely stood watching, politely allowing her aide to abuse the Jedi first.

He was bleeding from somewhere again; Obi-Wan could feel the warm moisture trace its slow meandering path. That sharp jab had to be to the kidneys, a knee perhaps, had to be the kidneys, perhaps the spleen…yet that should rupture or bruise the organ and not cause this external trickle of fluid or was it even blood?

Force, even his nails hurt; each strand of hair on his face and head vibrated. Had Ventress somehow simultaneously twisted his very cells from the inside as Aidus did whatever he had done?

With a soft growl of satisfaction, Aidus released his hold and stepped back as Obi-Wan sagged in his chains, closing his eyes to imprison his pain at this, yet another, assault against the all too human and frail body he was imprisoned in.

A mind half lost in pain had little resistance to whispers of vengeance, but a mind of a Jedi was still strong enough to resist the lure, to find ways to combat a body that grasped onto any means of salvation even should that mean damnation of the soul.

_A Jedi does not hate_…and the Jedi would make sure the man didn't. If he had to lose one or the other, he would rather lose the man and die a Jedi, than lose the Jedi and live as a man who hated.

_I won't hate him – I can't hate him. Jedi don't hate, they do not hate. _

"Nicely done, Aidus, you brought our Jedi to tears this time," Asajj applauded, complimenting Aidus as Obi-Wan struggled to raise his head.

"A helpless Jedi is a true pleasure," Aidus sneered, smacking his lips. He, too, seemed to be breathing a bit hard; his part in Obi-Wan's torment something he totally delighted in. "Can I do him some more damage?"

Like a proud but stern mother who wished to rein in a child, Ventress shook her head.

"You'll have more chances at him, Aidus, later, when I'm with the clone. You are not nearly as inventive as I, but what you lack in finesse and imagination, you more than make up in brute force. Our Jedi might appreciate some variety."

"Pain…is pain," Obi-Wan struggled to speak. "No matter…how inventive…and far more…degrading to those who deal in it."

With a cool laugh, Asajj crossed her arms. "Ah, Kenobi – you don't understand. I can inflict pain on you, on that clone – on that Force-spawned padawan of yours. But to truly destroy your spirit, not just your body, I can and will humiliate you, degrade you and debase you, make you doubt and recoil from everything that you know and rely on – even the Force, itself. I will have you kneeling at my feet."

What was with this fixation? All this was directed at him personally, and while she no doubt would ultimately kill him, she was after more than just his death. She had spoken of making him crawl at her feet, now she spoke of his kneeling there.

But why? She had tangled with Anakin before this, she had fought Jedi, but he had never had any dealings with her until now.

"Why…do you hate me so? What – what do you hope…to accomplish, Asajj, by breaking me?" he gasped, his desire to know overcoming his desire to conserve precious energy.

"I hate you because _he_ prefers you if you can be turned. I hate you because you care. You're too damned good, Kenobi, to be real. No one is that good. No one, and I'll prove you aren't, either. I can see through that façade, for that's all that it is. No one's so perfect, so compassionate that he considers even his enemies to be potential friends. There are no friends, only allies, and the only life worth worrying about is your own, for certainly no one else cares."

Obi-Wan blinked, surprised at her words. "Perfect?" He knew more than a few people who probably shared Asajj's assessment of him; he knew of no one who would consider him perfect, or even close to it. _Too rule-bound, emotionless, cold and impersonal _even came to mind. _Detached and aloof from life_ – he had heard many unflattering thoughts come his way over the years.

He shrugged off most, released the hurt into the Force when the words struck a nerve. The Jedi exterior protected and guarded the deeply emotional, personal, human core of him, the heart that would harden under a Jedi's life if allowed free expression. He knew who and what he was; if others did not, he accepted that.

Asajj had been damaged at some time, and despite everything she did to him, probably to others, he again had to wonder what lay in her past to make her this way. How could he, any being, hate someone who had been so hurt that their hate turned destructive?

Bruised and raw though his throat still was, he had to speak, to reach her – even, perhaps, to save her. It was not one's flaws, but one's willingness to overcome them – not one's hatred, but one's conscious choice to reject hatred that would ultimately save one - he from the cesspool of unwanted emotion that tried to drown his better self; her from whatever tragedy that continued to guide her life.

"I'm only a man, with my fair share of failure and imperfections. You think that compassion comes as easily as breathing? Part of me wants to hate you. Force help me, I

do – I do - hate you at times, but I let it go. I choose not to hate you, no matter what you do to me. _Choose_ not to hate yourself or others for whatever pain you feel."

Hate was an unwilling enemy that whispered seductively into his heart as his body tried to hold back its screams.

Hated he had, when Asajj had taunted a weakened Obi-Wan with news of his padawan's death on Jabiim. He hadn't felt hate so overwhelming like that since – Theed, so many years ago. At least he had still had full command of the Force then to help him free himself of that dark emotion before it took hold.

His heart still rose into his throat as he remembered her words: "All padawans are dead. Including yours, Obi-Wan."

His "no" of denial had been torn from his heart before his mind assured him of the truth it knew, but his heart had believed, for a moment and spoke first. He knew his padawan still lived.

Anakin would come for him, for Anakin could never accept the loss of one for the greater good, not if the one was someone needing help now while the greater good was of another time. The here and now, the one that needed saving, not the one or ones that would need saving, motivated his padawan.

Whether he wished it or not, whether it risked others or not, Anakin would come for him.

Once there were no more lives to save on Jabiim, he would come for Obi-Wan, and in his own inimitable way, would smugly announce he had again moved ahead in the "rescue vs. rescued" tally the boy seemed to be keeping. The master would willingly allow the padawan that small victory, if that was the price of being saved.

_Anakin will come…he will come_; he only hoped it wasn't at the expense of others' lives. In the meantime, if he could secure his and Alpha's escape before then…he would.

He didn't realize he had spoken his thoughts aloud, nor did he see the frown on Asajj's face when he mentioned his padawan's name. The quiet certainty had alerted her that Obi-Wan somehow knew the truth. Jabiim had not fallen, at least not yet, nor were the Jedi there dead, at least not yet.

"I will prove how weak the Jedi are – are weak you are," she spat back. "I want you broken, defeated, lying at my feet in front of my master. I shall have proved myself to his satisfaction then and I shall then take my rightful place at his side, his rightful apprentice, while you, the preferred one, are proved worthless.

What perversion was that?

He understood the desperation for acceptance, had undergone it himself. He would have said anything except lies, he would have done anything that was honorable, and he would have given anything that was his to give to have Qui-Gon accept him as a padawan. In the end, he had almost done, said, given everything to save the man who denied him: he gave his life. He would find honor in death as he had not in life: only dying would give his life meaning.

Just as his fingers closed around the transmitter that would blow a path to freedom, to the salvation of Bandomeer, to the end of a Jedi reject's life in a desperate bid to save others, the Force had given Qui-Gon the means to their escape and a thirteen year old boy a chance to be what he only dreamed of being: a Jedi.

In that moment of pure terror, fear and desperate certainty he was doing the right thing, Qui-Gon had stared at him and seen into his soul, and into the hearts of them both. Qui-Gon had denied the sacrifice but would no longer deny the boy. Qui-Gon found a way for them both to live, and the Force had bound them together as it meant, as master and padawan.

Years later, the Force had bound Anakin and he, too, as two grieving hearts reached out to each other. That bond, as the one before it, had been tested and had proved strong and resilient enough – built of respect and affection – to withstand the stresses and strains it had endured.

"No," he denied weakly. "Bond from strength, not -." His head swam from her slap, the outline of her hand no doubt etched in his cheek, the underlying nerves fiery embers of blazing red.

"You are a threat, Kenobi, as long as you live."

"Then why not just kill me?" he asked calmly even as he tried to feel if his cheekbone was broken.

"I strengthen my claim when you lay broken and twisted at my feet, for it is you he wants, the worthy heir to him. You refuse him, yet it is you he prefers over me. The Count will not doubt my suitability to be trained as a Sith at his side, and I avenge my first master on you Jedi at the same time, you who abandoned him to a cruel death and destroyed what remained of my life!"

Obi-Wan was shaken by the depth of passion that fueled her cry; the hurt and blind lashing out of someone who had never found an appropriate outlet for her grief. Grief fueled her anger; a hurt child lay buried underneath the sadistic adult, a child still bearing bitter wounds.

A need to comfort that child battled the shame he felt for his earlier spurt of hate and anger.

His first instinct had been an attempt to reach out to her, help if he could. Why had he turned away from that? His instinct had been correct all along: Ventress needed help. She needed compassion – and he had offered her neither.

How easily compassion had turned to condemnation under suffering. _Forgive me_, he whispered to the Force, to his absent colleagues, to the galaxy at large.

Absolute heart-wrenching pain peeked through the tough exterior. Her hatred was born of compassion for another's misfortune, whatever that had been, and it showed that somewhere buried deep down within her was a core of good. He had known that, once. She battled, she hated, and she inflicted pain because she believed such was forced on another.

In that moment, his heart went out to her.

"I am truly sorry for what pain you carry within you, but you do really need to release it, with or without my help. It will destroy you, if you don't."

"You know nothing of pain, Obi-Wan. Do you wish to die now, to know true pain?"

He nearly laughed. Pain was not dying, pain was not death. Pain was living, and the Force whispered to him it was not yet his time. So when she asked if wanted to die he responded with the truth – it was in the Force's hands alone.

He knew he shouldn't have spoken those words as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, and against all human instincts to brace himself, he forced himself to relax to better absorb what was coming. Mercifully, he remembered little of it, slipping into unconsciousness rather quickly.

* * *

"Does the Jedi live?"

Aidus almost sounded disappointed. He had taken a lot of pleasure in torturing the Jedi, more so than the clone. To have the power to lay the mighty low, turn the strong weak and to watch a man of compassion into one shorn of it was one of the greatest pleasures he had ever had. Asajj spoke with contempt of the Jedi, but they drew on the same Force that she did. He would not dare lay a hand on her, superior or not, but a real, live Jedi – it was an unprecedented opportunity; one he might never have again. He could see just how far one could push one without fear of retaliation.

Watching the clear eyes cloud with pain, the strangled attempts to restrain the audible evidence of his agony, the tremors and shudders the man could not restrain had been stimulating. Given free rein to do as he wished, he had done anything and everything he pleased and some things he had never done before – and the Jedi was helpless to resist, able to do nothing but endure. Endure he had, longer than expected; he seemed unable to be broken in spirit, no matter how broken his body.

He seemed unable, even, to be killed. There was no doubt in his mind that that was what Asajj had intended.

"He does," Ventress confirmed; not sure if she was pleased or disappointed. She shrugged. "I wanted him to beg for death, but he's too proud to ask, too stubborn to give in. I would have taken such pleasure had he begged me, only to deny his wish. "

"You almost killed him last time -"

That rankled. She had been so infuriated that she had given in to her hate and blood lust. Kenobi should, by all rights, be dead. She had meant to kill him, thought she had when his eyes glazed over and his head had sunk to a chest painted red, nearly touching the hilt of the blade meant to be buried within his heart rather than the near miss it had been.

Kenobi had been right, though. The Force had disrupted her aim and kept the Jedi alive, regardless of either of their wishes. Just as well. His death would have been only a momentary satisfaction, but he had not begged for death, pleaded for release, or crawled at her feet to avoid it. He had only offered to help her release her pain, and she had thought to release it with his death.

"A minor wound, in the end, deep but I missed his heart," she growled.

She had one last trick up her sleeve, a gift from her would-be mentor. The Sith had invented some truly diverting weapons to use against Jedi. If she could not break him, the Sith torture devices surely could.

Kenobi was doomed.


	15. Tears: Falleth Like Rain From the Heaven

Water.

Incessant rain: puddles and mud as a result.

If Tatooine unofficially held title as the furthest planet from the center of the galaxy, Jabiim held title as the dreariest, dankest, drippiest planet – wetter than those planets made of water and little land mass, in Anakin Skywalker's opinion.

Jabiim was as much a place of daytime nightmares as night ones, the miserable young Jedi grumbled to himself one dismal and cold gray morning, pulling his blanket tight around him. The steady rain was like nothing he had ever seen or experienced. On Tatooine, he had dreamed of rainy days, days when the air was fresh and the heat no longer oppressive. Rain, on a desert planet, was cherished and celebrated.

There was nothing to celebrate or cherish about Jabiim. It was wet and it was soggy, the rain ceaseless and unending. It was rarely soft drops of water that caressed the skin, never a mist. It poured from the skies to drench and drown whatever was below.

Water dripped, water plopped, water streamed, but water was always present. Each footstep was a squelch, not a tap, a watery crater not a print. Sentients did not leave traces of their passing, only wet scrapes and spilled blood that was soon just another ingredient in the slurry mess that was always underfoot.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Water dripped inches from his nose, hitting the cot with a small thud – drip, thud. Drip, thud. Each drop paused, aimed, and rolled into the offended nose, splattering on contact and sliding down his chin, where it tried to find a way under the tightly coiled blanket.

Thum. Thum. Thum.

Water bounced off tent walls. Obi-Wan had once said it was a soothing sound, but Obi-Wan hadn't ever had to endure days and weeks of nothing but that sound. Torture, it was sheer torture. Anakin buried his head under his pillow, but nothing removed the splat of water. There was no escaping the evil liquid.

With a not-so-soft curse, Anakin sat up and dressed, made a face as his somewhat warm toes hit wet and cold synth-leather. Water. He pulled the boot off and upended it. Water drained from it. He cursed some more and made sure he upended the other boot before inserting a foot into it.

He hated water.

Water was everywhere.

Water soaked through his cloak, plastered his hair to his head and dripped down his braid – drip, drip, drip – to pool at his collar and then spread down his back. He had taken to twisting his braid and pinning it out of the way. Sodden clothing stuck to him and rubbed uncomfortably in places his hands itched to pat dry while always-wet feet were always cold in boots that protected feet not at all, for they were mere repositories of more water.

He hated Jabiim.

Jabiim was a battlefield where victory came not quickly, perhaps would not come at all, the Republic troops too often bogged down on wet, slippery ground. Jabiim was a battlefield, a planet, of tears – tears made of water from the skies.

Tears: for the misery everyone endured; tears for the dead and wounded, and tears for the man Anakin knew was alive and in need of him. Tears for himself, for staying put when he needed to go, for putting duty ahead of desire. It was as his master would have wished; it was not what Anakin wished.

He hated being stuck here, when everything in him cried out that he needed to rescue his master.

Without any shred of evidence that Obi-Wan was alive other than the inactive bond, without knowledge of where his master was held captive, Anakin was just as much a captive as Obi-Wan. Trapped: both men were trapped in places neither wished to be, and neither could escape.

* * *

Water.

It dripped, plunk – plunk – plunk. He couldn't hear it too often, not over the sound of his heart beating, or his ragged breathing, or the coughs that shook him. The moans and screams torn from his abused body overrode the sound. The sound of vibroblades jabbing into muscle, of flesh being torn, or of Ventress' cruel laughter in his ears as he finally found a moment of peace in unconsciousness – all that drowned out that slow, steady drip.

It was only in such moments as this that he heard it. Moments when he was alone, his shivering and the feel of his flesh crawling subsided somewhat. It was in those rare moments of near silence when he heard things beyond him; sounds that defined his space and sounds that would always reside within these walls.

The sound of water was real and tangible. It existed, and it proved that he still existed. He could find comfort in its regularity and its reassurance that a real world was somewhere out there, beyond him. He was not a part of it, but he had been once, and might, the Force willing, be again. It was not cozy, never would be, not the soothing rhythm of gentle rain that he liked – preferably somewhere indoors warm and dry while the rain tapped on impervious walls and roofs.

It was the other sounds that, real as they were, didn't exist. Souls, screaming in torment, begging for mercy, hoping it would be granted in the form of a quick death, for mercy here meant death. Sounds, in the spaces between heartbeats and drops of water.

Obi-Wan had seen such places once before, where walls bore silent witness to the torment it had seen; places where the air was weighed with past suffering – its breezes not fresh, but cries of the tormented, winds not of storms but of terrified screams, rain from the clouds not life but tears for the long dead.

Such places existed on many planets, some from recent atrocities and some from days so long gone nothing remained of that time but lingering pain from those long dead. It was only one place, one planet, where the combined weight of needless pain and suffering made all the others pale in comparison. Dak B'tar: a monument on a world – a humanoid world – of man's inhumanity to man.

"We shall not forget and we shall never repeat the mistakes of the past."

It was a dead world now, all life destroyed in an endless cycle until the very few left alive had found common ground. Their final act, before they cleansed their world by shedding their own blood to stop the cycle, was to erect the monument for the benefit of other worlds – a warning and a plea from a people who committed suicide to end the cycle of death.

At the monument, the very air breathed of those long gone people, of the barbarity and cruelties that one group could put another through. The blood that had saturated the ground was now only the silent screams of the tormented that had bound itself into the dirt, the buildings and the air. Very few humanoids were unaffected by a visit there. Jedi were required to shield heavily, for the lingering anguish pierced the heart and mind of those most open to it.

This place, this cell, these walls that bound the Jedi, however, was no monument to the past, of horrors never to be repeated. It was a place dedicated to the perpetuation of degradation and pain, and it was the place in which Obi-Wan was imprisoned, the current victim.

This place was not a monument to history. It was a living hell.

It was where he existed, his world narrowed down to only the _here and now_, for the future was too far away to contemplate and the past too far gone to remember.

It was during such half aware times as this when Obi-Wan heard them – the ghosts He was alone in the dark, yet he had companions: ghosts of the tortured and long departed. They weren't ghosts with ethereal fingers that brushed against one's skin, or voices just under one's threshold of hearing yet there, somewhere. It wasn't the ghosts of the beings that had suffered here before him, but the suffering they shed when they died and the pain they bore while living.

They had found peace and freedom in death, and Death had taken them, but Death wanted no part of the torment which remained behind, seeping into stone and molecules of air, layer upon layer.

_Your pain shall be added to ours_, they whispered, though Obi-Wan heard no words, but rather felt them – became the embodiment of their suffering as he became the outward expression of theirs. They were right, in a way; a Jedi released his pain into the Force as he had done before this, as he would do when the time of his death came, however and whenever it was. He was sure it wouldn't be too long now. He didn't need the Force to tell him that.

All the pain and anger of countless Jedi, of countless living beings, had dissipated in the Force and been transformed, never sullying or poisoning its gentle currents, but the air here was not of the Force. The pain grew and swelled, it found the pores of the stonework and became a part of the walls, the floors, and the air contained therein, a dead, rotting layer that burdened the souls of all that came in touch with it.

To a Jedi – anyone Force-sensitive – it was almost alive. Seeking to escape its own realms, it sought refuge in the minds of those new to its realms and only found new despair. Obi-Wan could not allow its tendrils to entwine within him, but he could let some of it attach to his own pain when he released what he could, when he could, to the Force that remained accessible to him.

He could free the trapped, given enough time, pain and suffering on his part; this prison could be washed clean of its taint and its victims finally allowed true peace as their pain was accepted and absorbed by the Force as a part of his. Yet on one level he realized the dead were dead; what haunted this place was not the actual souls of the departed, but the pain and suffering they discarded upon death.

Death had freed those victims; Death had wanted no part of the suffering, for Death was not a cruel mistress, but a part of Life, a part of the Force. Death was a merely a threshold from physical life to spiritual life, and when his time came, he would step through it without fear, for it led him only closer to the Force which had birthed him.

The Force would save him, the only question was how…and when…would he find peace forever in oneness with the Force, or through its will, through life?

* * *

Water.

It was raining on that part of Coruscant where the Jedi Temple stood. Rain on Coruscant was carefully scheduled, nearly artificial. It cleansed the air, broke the monotony of a regular weather pattern, pretended to mimic seasons on a planet that had long ago ceased to function as a mere planet. Coruscant was a city that had once been a planet, governed by man when once it had been governed by forces of nature.

Water was what gave the few treasured open and green spaces life. Carbon-based life forms needed water to survive. Too little, life withered; too much, life wilted and drowned.

The Temple gardens were open to the rain, the soft patter refreshing and in rhythm to the fountains that graced the Temple grounds and hallways. In lieu of her daily swim, Bant Eerin sat in the rain, letting the moisture caress her skin. A Mon Calamarian, more than many other species, needed rain and needed moisture.

There was never too much water for her. Only too little.

Next to her, dry under a warm cloak pulled tight, sat Siri. The two Jedi had found harmony here, one open to the rain and one cloaked from it, but both enjoying it. The two were friends, but had never been particularly close, for their friendship had centered on the missing and presumed dead Obi-Wan. One grieved for his uncertain fate and one for his death, yet together they mourned. In his absence, the two females had drawn together, drawn to share memories and hopes, fears and frustrations.

"Do you think Obi misses the rain?" Though Bant spoke the words, they weren't really directed at her companion, more an outward expression of her inner thoughts. She didn't believe he could be alive, but the certainty of Anakin and Siri was shaking that belief.

She herself had seen what a severed bond could do to a Jedi, had done to Obi-Wan after his master's death on Naboo. As a healer, and as his best friend, he had allowed her a chance to access his mind in order to alleviate the pain, in the end, all she had been able to do was minimize the pain, for to do more was to risk damage to the forming bond with his own padawan.

If Anakin insisted the bond was not severed, either he was mistaken, or Obi-Wan was alive. The third alternative was that the bond had been severed only after the master-padawan were so far apart that the bond was already silent from distance, but even such an event should still have triggered some sensation of pain – it would still be severed while joined to one very much alive Jedi.

_I hope he remembers the sound of the rain_.

"Does it matter?"

Siri extended a hand, let a few drops fall onto the palm and eyed them curiously before closing her hand around them. She opened her hand; the drops were mere smeared streaks, no longer sparkling crystals. Such a simple thing, mere water droplets, yet life could not exist without it. Battered and beaten, transformed, but still water, the essence unchanged even if the shape of it was.

Eternal.

"He loves the sound of the rain, the steady rhythm."

"Then we shall listen for him, in his absence," Siri noted, lifting her face and letting a few soft drops melt against her face. If a few stuck to blonde eyelashes, or if some slipped from within, none but she would know.


	16. When There's No Tomorrows

Hurt, oh how he hurt.

Such was always his first thought when awareness returned; the second: he was still alive.

Then he would turn his thoughts onto his on-going attempts to free himself.

It was painstakingly slow; attempts to conceal his efforts necessary. It was also slow work, for he had been weak and exhausted for far too long.

Just lately, it had taken almost everything he had to first kill the maggots and then weaken the toxins before they could spread further, for expel them he could not. Then that last slash of Ventress – her hand poised to strike – the infliction of just another wound onto a body that had long ago lost track of wounds.

He had known the Force would protect him; it had responded to his call and given him the energy to deflect the vibroblade's angle, but it had struck deep and it had struck into a body nearly on the edge. He had just enough time, as he sank into the void, to grab one last fistful of Force and descend into a healing trance rather than mere unconsciousness.

But now, when he came out of it, he felt, if not renewed, stronger than he had felt in a long while.

Humor, hope and the Force had sustained him all through the attempts at moral corruption, through persuasions and arguments.

Humor, hope and the Force had stood with him against poison, starvation, and physical torture… He had hurt before this, but he had never hurt everywhere at once – subject to raw, twisting pain, throbbing aches and stabbing jolts all at the same time.

Then there was the other pain: the pain of knowing his padawan's pain and that of his friends'. Perhaps by now it had dulled, dissipated into the Force; perhaps his padawan and friends had made peace with his death and let him go, long ago. As they should, as he had done, with time's passage, after his master's death.

Jedi mourned the dead, but they let grief go, for grief was selfish, about being left behind. It was about one's own loss, not another one's passage to oneness with the Force. Home, all Jedi knew the Force was home, it was both womb and grave.

He had found another source of strength as well: his memories, a potent weapon to combat the unwelcome thoughts – the darkness born of despair and pain. Reach for the light, reach into his memories and reach into memories of his friends and happier times.

As he had been doing, he found comfort in thoughts of what was, what might have been, and what would surely never be. Even as awareness slowly returned, he found refuge there in his mind, in memories and dreams.

Memories of friendship; of love denied and once buried, no longer denied

Childhood pranks with Garen and Reeft – swimming with Bant – the _awe_ when the Force moved through him in response to his own wish, not it's own - the complete sense of rightness when Qui-Gon first twisted the braid in his hair – such a little thing it had been, but so momentous.

His utter happiness when he finally realized the depths of his master's affection for him after months of wondering – the warmth of Qui-Gon's occasional hugs when a "well done, Obi-Wan" didn't seem approval enough – Siri's lips against his when they thought they were sure to die – the shiver of happiness that ran up his spine the first time Anakin had hugged him – his small hand slipping in his master's hand as the eyes, so trusting, gazed upwards - so many quiet and happy moments he had not perhaps properly appreciated at the time.

He would find strength in his memories, for time was running out. He would free himself – or die. Ventress would never let Jedi Master Kenobi escape anywhere but into the Force, or into a dark and twisted Force-user.

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was just as determined to escape into the world of the living.

If he didn't succeed, he was doomed, as long ago on that ship, only this time he would face his doom alone. His only comfort and his only escape was in his mind, for his flesh was captive and tied to a reality that only his mind could flee.

He allowed himself to dream of what might have been, dreams that had occasionally filled his sleep so long ago and were now given conscious shape, for they gave comfort where there was none other to be found. He dreamed of Qui-Gon Jinn, coming to choose him as his padawan and he dreamed of Anakin, his padawan coming to save him.

He dreamed of Siri and what might have been….

On Coruscant, Siri longed for sleep, for there, Obi-Wan lived; there, they could be together as never in life. Awake: she was alone, with not even friendship to sustain her.

Everything logical said Obi-Wan was dead, that she was indulging in wishful thinking by thinking otherwise. Saying goodbye was just so darn hard when the heart was involved – and didn't the heart sometimes create a bond? How else to explain this sense that Obi-Wan was alive, but for this weak bond that existed? It was a bond, a far more active and strong one, that told the padawan the same truth.

"Obi-Wan," Siri whispered, reaching for him in the dark, letting her reawakened knowledge of just how much he meant to her carrying her back to that day, that time, on the doomed ship…slipping into a dream of what have been…

"_Siri," he said her name as if he were just learning it._

…"_Obi-Wan," she breathed back, aware of something that had always been there, but hidden, now come to life. _

_His hands grasped hers as he looked at her, really at her, and he moved closer to her._

…"_Just kiss me," she said, meeting Obi-Wan's lips with her own. It left them both breathless and tingling, staring at each other. It was a pivotal moment, but this was the dream, not the reality of what was._

"_It's the knowledge of our deaths approaching – we can't."_

…_Siri could see the effort Obi-Wan put into his words, light, teasing, touched with sorrow. He moved away from her; rolled onto his back and didn't look at her. Was he right? Were they just reacting to a situation, letting their emotions guide them? _

"_I just want you to know – another time, another place, if we were other people…."_

…"_It's allowed. Physical interaction is allowed at our age, if we choose." Siri knew she was grasping at straws. "We're allowed to be attracted to each other, to give in to those needs as long as we avoid attachment."_

"_It's too late…I love you, Siri." Obi-Wan finally looked at her, his eyes filled with love, longing and regret._

…"_If there's no tomorrow, there's no attachment to worry about, there is only now." It took a kiss or two to convince Obi-Wan of that, a kiss or two before his arms came around her and for him to return her kisses. And for a while, they contented themselves with just that: kissing and exploring each other's faces, taking all the time in the world for they had all the rest of their lives together._

_Shy and tentative kisses that deepened with the knowledge that they truly loved each other and that this was the only time they would ever have together, for time was running out. Only in this dream, instead of contenting themselves with kisses and holding each other close, to die separate but together, they threw restraint to the winds. Satisfying physical needs was not forbidden once of age, only discouraged, attachment forbidden. _

_There would be no tomorrows. Without a tomorrow, there was no danger of attachment, no consequences._

_Hands were awkward; physically shy, it took a while to divest them of the clothing that separated them. Hesitating a moment, a question in his eyes, and an answering smile in hers as she reached for him._

…"_Obi-Wan," she breathed, closing her eyes at his touch._

"_Siri, "he whispered…_

… "Obi-Wan," Asajj sneered; her face inches from his when his eyes startled open; Obi-Wan closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream.

"Obi-Wan?" On Coruscant, Siri startled awake and punched her pillow in frustration. "Why must one always wake up just when the dreams get good?"

Staring into the dark, phantom arms still holding her close, Siri realized _something_ had awoken her from her dreams, heart pounding, but not with passion. Dread. Something, or someone terrible, and it involved Obi-Wan.

"I have a bad feeling about this,' Siri echoed absently.

In the dark, the dream fought the nightmare for dominion, gentle touches against vicious ones. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, shutting himself away from whatever perverted delights Ventress would take this time against his abused body.

"Siri," he pleaded, striving to retain what was good against what was not.

Asajj's face split in a feral smile of victory. "Obi-Wan," she purred playfully, seeing her prey try to twist away from a painful reality into a pleasing dream.

Obi-Wan sought the dream, reached for it as he was used to reaching for the Force for comfort. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, that would be his reality. Siri's touch was soft, loving…it didn't hurt, not like this hurt…hurt – his sobs caught in his throat.

_Siri_, and for a moment, he thought he was in her arms and it was good; searching for something, someone to hold onto as the torment only continued and he arched away from the painful touches, the hands, the – 'no, no, no," he moaned.

"Siri," he whispered, as his mind roared in outrage, his heart screamed in denial and his body tensed in agony. Siri, it was Siri. He loved Siri.

Tears slid unchecked down his face, one slow tear after another.


	17. Love Redefined?

Scarcely a day passed, it now seemed, without Padawan Terzah making his rounds, black ribbon in hand; something that had become all too familiar recently at the Jedi Temple. Casualties were increasing. This day, too, had brought news of more deaths. Jabiim was not kind to Jedi or Clonetroopers alike, from what Siri could gather.

He held several black bands this time and his face was resolute. Solemn, he remained steadfast in his duty. He was the symbol of death, but also of life transformed, and while the living mourned those taken from them, the dead no longer cared, now joined with the Force that had birthed them and now again cradled their spirits within itself.

He nodded to Siri as he passed by and she just as solemnly nodded back to him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive – the man was just too stubborn to die. If any man could chose the time and place of his own death, it would be he, and he would not have chosen Jabiim. He would not have chosen to leave his padawan alone.

_Sometimes, Kenobi, your stubbornness is a gift of the Force_. Siri would never admit it to him, but now that trait comforted her.

Senate debates that made the Holonet always made mention of Jabiim.

Jabiim: a sign of Jedi ineptitude. Jabiim: where one of the greatest generals of the Republic had died. Jabiim: where another great hero labored on, but for how long?

Jabiim: destined to be a failed battlefield of the Republic?

Jabiim: a name that made Siri wince every time she heard it, for Jabiim had swallowed all sign of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Perhaps it was a symbol of her inability to let the man she loved go, but Siri couldn't and wouldn't believe that. He was alive. She would not let Obi-Wan Kenobi go, for he was not gone.

Siri was sure Yoda was well aware of her feelings. When they passed each other, he would always bow courteously, his eyes always gentle on her. He never commented, suggested she meditate or otherwise rid herself of her belief. Sometimes she thought his eyes lingered on her as if trying to draw some of her belief into himself, but he would always blink sadly and continue on his way.

Another presence reached out to her, and she turned with a pleased smile, shaken from her musings.

"Master! I have missed your presence recently. How long have you been back?"

"Long enough to attend a Council meeting." Adi looked weary as if she had attended Council immediately upon her return, straight from one of the other battlefields. Her regal presence was comforting, and she seemed to draw strength from her former padawan's presence, for her smile was wide and genuine.

"Oh." Siri had wondered if her former master knew the news, for she had been in hyperspace long enough to be out of touch with events. If she been to a Council session, she was current.

"Walk with me, Padawan." Adi's voice revealed nothing of her thoughts as Siri looked up startled. "You are troubled, my dear. Our years together have allowed me to see what few others could. You grieve for Obi-Wan, more so than the rest of us. Is there anything I can do to help you during this time?"

"No, Master, there is nothing. Obi-Wan would tell me –." Obi-Wan would tell her to meditate and find her calm center! Even as a knight she found it hard to meditate, it was something Obi-Wan loved to tease her about.

"You are having trouble accepting his death, aren't you, Padawan?"

"Yes, no – if it were his time I would have accepted it by now, but…"

"But even as Obi-Wan's padawan feels he is alive, you do, too?"

Siri nodded, unable to speak, and was surprised when Adi put a hand on her arm and guided her to their former shared quarters, neither one speaking. Adi busied herself making some tea as Siri stood and looked around, remembering the years there as Adi's padawan. Nothing appeared to have changed.

She walked a few steps to her left and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Will there ever be someone in my old room?" It seemed strange, so see the room so bare, no bedding, no holopics, nothing to indicate the years she had lived in that room. It had been years, after all.

She had been fierce and focused in those days, impatient with other padawans, unwilling to cooperate when cooperation meant giving up a degree of control. It had kept her aloof, friendly with her age mates when not in competition with them, but with few real friends.

She had lived for competition; nothing else and no one else really mattered.

It had taken a slightly older, infuriatingly perfect padawan, to breach her walls and to let down her guard. It had been that same padawan who had broken her heart, who had made her see after his own master had made him see, that their future was as Jedi and that they could not deny that. It was their love that they had to deny.

Here, the girl who never cried, had cried while the master who offered kindness but little in the way of physical affection offered her arms and helped her padawan slowly heal, and set the foundation for the eventual resumption of Siri's and Obi-Wan's friendship.

Adi glided up behind her with two hot mugs and stood beside her, looking into the room with a reminiscent smile.

"Someday. After the war, I would like to take another padawan. It wouldn't be fair to take one now, as busy as I am with the Council as well as the war. Come, sit." Adi moved to a seat in the common room, sat down and gave Siri one of the hot mugs.

"Besides, I haven't found one who will challenge me as you did. You have grown into a fine knight, Siri, and I expect you to be a master someday shortly. I am proud of you, my padawan."

"I learned much from you, Master, and I thank you."

"We taught each other. You remember Master Jinn's saying: when the padawan teaches the master, the pairing is right? Both of us learned much from our padawans – and you, Siri, you learned much from Obi-Wan, too. You find his death hard to accept because, deep down, you still love him."

How like Adi to pick up on her padawan's train of thought and address it. That was why she brought Siri here, and that was what Siri had wanted to speak to her about, anyway. She had not expected it to be easy; she did not easily speak of her feelings even with her master, yet who else understood her after all these years and would accept the feelings even as she offered guidance on dealing with them. Even so, the words prompted an automatic response.

"I find accepting his death hard, because he is not dead," Siri corrected. "Not because I love him. Jedi do not love."

"Of course they do." Adi shook her head at her former padawan. "Jedi are supposed to love, love life in all its myriad forms and shapes. You are a Jedi, a fine one. You loved Obi-Wan, another truly fine Jedi. Where in the Code does it say: A Jedi shall not know love? I believe the relevant passage is: There is no attachment."

Siri stared at her former master, taken aback by this apparent change in viewpoint. "They are one and the same, and that is why we separated years ago. We both knew we would never be truly happy if we gave up being Jedi. It is who we are."

"My point exactly. Jedi, who love. You were barely more than children all those years ago, adults yes, but still feeling your way towards knowing what a Jedi is, knighthood years away yet. Master Jinn, Yoda and I all believed separating you two was the correct thing to do then, and even now, I believe it was right at that time. I disagreed then and now with how Master Jinn handled his padawan at the time, but – Siri, this war is making me question a lot of things we've all taken for granted. The Code, for one."

Adi smiled and shook her head at Siri's expression of surprise.

"I still believe in it, but have we grown rigid in our interpretation of it? Have we let its guidelines turned into "shalls" and "shall nots"? Instead of guiding us, is it ruling us? After the war, should we step back and look at it with fresh eyes and find the spirit it embodies rather than the literal interpretation we now rely on? Even Master Yoda is slowly coming to agree with me, I believe. It has made for some interesting discussions of late between the two of us."

"Why are we having this conversation, Adi? Why now?" Siri didn't mean to sound quite so challenging, but this hardly seemed the appropriate time to discuss a past that had no bearing on the present or the future.

"Why did you wish to speak to me? Siri, dear, I know you too well. You wanted to speak of how difficult you are finding this and because you hoped I could help you face your feelings honestly and with a clear mind. You wanted me to help you see if you are facing Obi-Wan's death with feelings from your heart rather than your instincts, right?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't expect you to start talking about – about the Code. It has nothing to do with – why I wanted to talk with you. Why are we discussing the Code?"

"Because I want you to be happy and you are not, not as you can and should be. Because Padawan Skywalker and my own padawan think Obi-Wan is alive – and if they are right,

you two will be reunited someday. I think you are able to both love and be steadfast to duty. Perhaps you two should no longer deny your love, at least to each other, and take some happiness where you can."

"You're surely not advocating we – we get married and produce a litter of Force-potential kids are you?" Not only could she not believe she was having this conversation, with her traditionalist master of all Jedi, but it was getting uncomfortably personal. As always, when feeling vulnerable, she said something totally outrageous to divert the conversation.

"I'm not advocating anything of the sort," Adi returned primly. Privately, she thought while the Order would be greatly enriched should those two Jedi have Force-sensitive offspring - marriage, children – that still seemed something the Order should not allow. No, she most definitely wasn't suggesting that. It was forbidden, rightfully so.

"No, marriage for Jedi doesn't seem right, somehow, even if it was allowed some centuries back, and I am certainly not saying you should consider leaving the Order. I am saying this: if Obi-Wan is alive and returns to us, grab onto him, grab onto some happiness, if you can do so without inappropriate attachment.

"Be discreet, but be happy, and remember what is allowed if you wish to pursue a deeper relationship with him. Other Jedi have, um, indulged their passions, even including you, I believe, so I know you know that physical relationships are allowed even if not encouraged. I know even one member of the Council, who, ah, 'indulges' somewhat frequently." A_nd probably keeps a frown on his face at all times, too_, Adi thought privately, with a little smile.

Siri blushed. "That's a quaint way to phrase it. I gave in to curiosity a few times, but, I don't know, it didn't seem right for some reason."

The truth was far more complicated; it had never been real desire on her part, not even that first time. The power to say no was always hers, even when _no_ would have been her first choice. No time had it seemed right, even if had not been wrong. It had been her choice, those few times.

She had been young and curious, and aware that her impending departure from the Order, on an undercover assignment would be unpleasant as well as possibly deadly; possibly requiring she engage in behavior she would ordinarily would not. It had led to her decision to experience something she might never have a chance to experience, for even if she did, it would never be with the man she had loved and would never have.

It had not been difficult to find a willing partner, but in the end, it had meant little beyond mere fleeting pleasure, not the true intimacy with another that she found was what she really desired.

It was hardly fair to the few men, either, for her to pretend they were another – _him_ - while in their arms. There had been no pretense on either side, by either party.

_Afterwards_, one or the other of them would slid out of bed with a smile and go his or her own way. Siri had wondered what it would be like to just wake beside the one you loved, or just to be held within loving arms - _his _arms_ -_ _before_ or _after_, happy just to be in the other's presence – wanting to give as much as take and to be united on a level far beyond the mere physical – to feel joy in the total sharing of two selves – body, mind and heart.

"I said nothing about a – a physical relationship with Obi-Wan. A Jedi knows not passion, you know that. What makes you think I want to – he'd want to - really, Adi - ," she fought to hide the deepening red of her cheeks.

"Siri," Adi smiled knowingly. "Your love has deepened and resurfaced, and the ultimate expression for two humans, especially two Force-sensitives, is that deepest of all connections where nothing is held back, that transcends mere physical desire. Don't tell me you haven't thought more than once of making that connection."

"Thoughts don't always have to be translated into actions," Siri acknowledged, hesitant to reveal even this much of her thoughts. "It's – it's better if we don't. Easier."

A finger tilted her chin up to bring her eyes to meet Adi's. "You've never chosen the easy path, my dear. Love your Obi-Wan, and let him love you, if he still returns the feelings."

"He wouldn't – you know how strait-laced Obi-Wan is – he would never allow himself…he thinks we're only friends now, after all these years…." Siri studied her fingers. She had forbidden Obi-Wan to think of "them" all those years ago, to forget her. For several years their friendship had been strained. Nothing indicated that he retained the slightest shred of feeling for her beyond friendship.

She could not deny _her_ feelings. When she had seen Obi-Wan standing with Anakin, she had known then. She shouldn't let him leave. She couldn't make him stay. She could only bid him goodbye, and watch the man she loved go to almost certain death.

Facing first her loss, then her doubts, and then her certainty that he remained alive had only made her absolutely certain she had never stopped loving him.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but it's he you should discuss that with before making any decisions as what either of you desires, and if it's each other you desire, I counsel you to follow your heart as long as your duty remains clear."

"He'll never…I can't." Their paths were clear, their duty equally so. She might give the idea serious consideration, as her vivid dreams had made clear, but Obi-Wan would never – he had been so hurt, all those years ago, by the choices he had faced. He had made his choice, as had she, and it wouldn't be fair to revisit that now, after both had found peace and acceptance in their decision.

He would have so much to face, on his return. It would be unfair to burden him with the past when he would be dealing with the repercussions of the present.

"There is no 'us.' Obi-Wan put 'us' aside years ago."

"My dear, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a man of deep feelings underneath that serene exterior, and a strong-willed individual. His master's wish that he give you up and yours that he forget about you only caused him to bury his feelings. That he still retains them I do not doubt, and you can help him rediscover them should you wish. Be happy together, if you can, amidst all this galactic tragedy."

"I don't want to hurt him by re-opening an old wound. We have a great friendship now and I would not want to endanger that."

Adi smiled fondly at her padawan. "See, my dear, you still think of his well-being before your own. That is unselfish love, the kind that should be encouraged, not discouraged."

"Adi? Do you think Obi-Wan is alive?"

Adi took Siri's mug and set it down beside her own, and took Siri's hands in hers. "No, I don't. None of the Council does. The Council wishes that Anakin is right, but believe – no. It is true that Anakin has a very strong connection to the Force, and he also has a very strong connection to his master. We believe that his emotions cloud him, but he is so certain…it is hard to doubt him, but there is nothing – nothing to support his view.

"Yet, even you believe…Siri – why do you, too, believe Obi-Wan is alive? Your heart would not cloud you as it might Anakin. I believe it is your instincts guiding you on this, I do not see you allowing your heart to guide your feelings which would be inappropriate."

"It is my heart that believes he must be alive." Siri stood up and paced back and forth. "My heart, but based on a friendship bond that lingers, that the Force created and has not severed."

"Bonds can reveal truths that are otherwise hidden," Adi observed gently.

"You're right, I do still love him. Even I thought it was all buried and past until I saw him get ready to leave and it hit me – he was walking into danger and for the first time I knew, really knew, he might never come back. Does my heart speak clearly, or only believe what it wants to believe? I've asked myself this a thousand times and the answer is always – my heart would know; the bond lives. How I know that I do not know."

Adi stood up and placed her hands on Siri's shoulders, stilling her. "The Council is not heartless. Trust your instincts. If Anakin comes up with any evidence, anything, the Jedi will do all that they can to rescue Obi-Wan."

"I know, I do, really, but Adi – how do I know that I am not 'attached inappropriately' to him if he does return?"

"That's simple, my dear," Adi said, hugging Siri. "Let me remind you of the Jedi definition of 'attachment:' to put the needs of the self ahead of others. The Jedi definition of 'attachment' means something different from what most non-Jedi would think: it's based on selfishness and greed: 'I need, I want,' putting the one before the good of all.

"To hold onto Obi-Wan so you wouldn't lose him would be attachment. To let him go although you knew he might not return is not. You know selfless love, unconditional love, my dear. You let him go to what you thought might be, and perhaps was, his death. You let go of what you loved."

"I had no choice; we are Jedi."

"Yes, you are," Adi agreed, brushing a hint of moisture away from Siri's eyes. "I just hope what you love returns to you."


	18. Even in Death, the Dead Speak

"Dead. They're dead, no one survived - even the wounded - were killed."

The reporting voice was quiet and unemotional, even if the words hinted of disquiet. The Force had been bleak and roiling, a storm that thundered and crackled and told the Jedi elsewhere on Jabiim that something violent had disturbed the Force. Death and destruction on a wide scale. This confirmation of what the Force had roared was troubling to the senior Jedi at one end of the transmission.

_Dead – all dead_. General Norcuna's entire command wiped out; not one survivor. The report of the scout sent to investigate the lack of communication with the General's forces was staring at her, a miniature hologram in flickering red. It mirrored one of the colors soaking the ground and the dead stretched behind him. A clone trooper, face resolute and untouched by grief despite the carnage apparent behind him, for the hologram was set on wide angle view.

Behind him, General Norcuna lay bloodied, his topknot unmistakable, a hand clasped firmly to another's, not willing to be separated from his padawan even after death.

_I am senior Jedi now_. It took a moment for General Leska to comprehend. _The Republic has paid a high price for Jabiim – Kenobi, Norcuna, so many masters, the padawans, our clone troops. What shall the final cost be, I wonder. I shall not know until victory is secured, or retreat ordered by Coruscant._

Once, victory seemed all but assured. The Republic had superior forces and greater numbers. They fought rebels who overthrew the government and promised peace even as they marched against others.

The rebels knew the terrain, they knew the weather and how to work with it. They fought with hate and they fought with passion and purpose, inspired by a charismatic leader who promised them what they thought they deserved: respect. The rebels had decimated Norcuna's command, and from the looks of the bodies, had exalted in their victory.

There were too many dead on that final battlefield, stretching unbroken to the sea, where a plain was now a graveyard of the unburied. Streams that once ran clear through the meadows now ran only red, the trampled grasses blossoming only with blood.

Knowing it had to be, Leska gave her first order, sending a company of troops to gather the dead and give them an honorable send off in one massive funeral pyre. Their bodies would not be left to slowly rot.

"Bring ID's and all weapons back with you," she instructed as the honor company left, then dropped into a seat and buried her head into her hands. How lucky she was that her own padawan, knighted not long before Geonosis, had her own young padawan now, too

young to be in battle. Her padawan, and her padawan's padawan, were safe and alive, because of their age and circumstance.

Only days before Norcuna had told her he was going to recommend his padawan for the trials, once the Jabiim campaign was over. "Time to set the young man free," he had said, chuckling. He had never suspected it would be free in the Force.

Breathing out the shock and horror, Leska stood up and looked at her officers. They would mourn the dead when there was time. Now was not the time.

The briefing continued.

Intelligence had found that Alto Stratus was now on the Razor Coast. If he were to be captured, the Jabiim Separatist movement would fall apart, held together mainly by the charismatic leader. Both Republic intelligence and the Jabiim loyalists agreed on that.

Making several quick decisions, Leska ordered that her troops be mobilized. Her second decision was to keep the "padawan pack" away from battle, running re-supply. It was a vital job, one that desperately needed to be done, and it was a job that would also give the padawans a better chance to live.

Far too many lives had been lost; far too many futures cut short.

* * *

Long after the other Council members had left, two Jedi remained in the Council chamber, staring out a window at the never-ceasing traffic.

_Out there_, nothing ever seemed to change. War had not changed the pattern of life on Coruscant. War had a strange ability to disrupt entire planets, and leave others untouched.

Adi Gallia had been present for the first time in a long time, just returned from a distant battlefield. Word had not reached her of Jabiim: of Kenobi's death, now this newest report that Norcuna and his entire command had been wiped out. As soon as the Council meeting had been adjourned, she had quickly left, and Yoda understood she wanted to see her former padawan. Adi would want to support Siri in her grief, not realizing her former padawan doubted Obi-Wan's death.

Should Siri somehow convince Adi that Obi-Wan was alive, that the possibility even existed, Yoda wondered if Adi would urge her padawan to pursue her heart or not should she be proved right.

The future was clouded and uncertain; the Order would have to change after the war. How much it would change, and in what ways, he couldn't see, only that it would be forced to. Adi had decided ideas on that and Yoda didn't have the heart to disagree with her – or yet the courage to agree.  
He waited for the Force to provide answers. It always did. It just hadn't yet.

In the meantime, he decided to broach the subject with Mace Windu. The man was cautiously open to new ideas, given time to digest and meditate on them.

The tide of battle, always fickle, seemed to be swinging in the Separatists' favor again. Just as it seemed one side or the other had gained an advantage, something would intervene.

Jabiim was the battlefront where victory once seemed almost assured and defeat now more likely. The reports were not good, and the Chancellor had hinted of his displeasure; present via hologram for this now concluded meeting. One might even suspect he blamed the Jedi for mismanaging the war, from a few of his more pointed comments, couched in the most inoffensive words that got his meaning across.

Mace had been forced to call onto both years of discipline and the Force to avoid retorting at one point more than that, "General Kenobi initially advised on arrival that we needed equipment adapted to the local environment and was refused."

Ki-Adi-Mundi had smoothly stepped in and given Mace a chance to hold back further comments that would only antagonize the chancellor.

Mace rubbed his head and looked over at Yoda, now sitting on his hover chair at shoulder height next to him.

"Tensions mount between the Order and the Chancellor. More and more often Palpatine is interfering with the Senate's oversight of this war. I do not like it."

"Bow to reality we must, power the Chancellor takes and power the Senate abdicates to him. Maintain at least a façade of good relations with him we should – on the same side we are."

A grunt was his only answer.

"Out there, nothing changes," Yoda observed. "Inside here," he gestured, "much has already changed. Feel it, do you? Peacekeepers the Jedi have always been, but always the neutral party we have been when resolving conflicts. Now, on one side we are, little different than an arm of the Republic. Repercussions for the Order I sense in the future."

"Nonsense," Mace returned promptly; then hesitated. "Do continue," he relented.

"An open-minded man you are, Master Windu?" Yoda asked, deciding to broach that subject he had so far only discussed with Adi Gallia.

"Worried I am for the future of the Jedi – the younglings, the initiates – who shall instruct

them when few knights or masters remain? Cling to tradition do we, or face the possibility of new ways?"

Mace hesitated before answering. "Tradition serves us well and I see no need to change what works. I hope I am open-minded enough to listen to your apparent concerns."

"Well you should. The Code served us well it has, but continue to do so, can it? When not enough masters there are and initiates go without a master – do we find a way or do as always we have done? Several promising initiates we have, who to the Agri Corps must soon go, if no knights to the Temple return to take a padawan in time. The Code guides us always, but interpretations change, this I have seen over my many years, too. Flexible it can be if allow it we do. Face that, can you?"

"Surely it has not come to that?"

Yoda shook his head. "Not yet, perhaps, but face the possibility we should. Lost many Jedi we have, nearly a score alone on Jabiim so far. Who shall care for the younglings when the elders are no more? Who shall carry on in the service of the Force if adapt we do not? Dark times we face, Master Windu, face the future we must while on the past one eye we keep, but cling we should not."

Mace blew out a breath. "Why do I suspect these thoughts have something to do with Obi-Wan's death? I know you were fond of him, always were."

"Fond I was, but fond I am of the Order more." Yoda fell silent, ears twitching, before resuming.

"Young Kenobi, a symbol of a lost generation he is, one that was prepared to assume the mantle of leadership in the coming years. Old I am, soon in the twilight of my years. War may still claim many of us, immune the Council is not. Who succeeds us, Master Windu? Who trains the next generation; who leads us forward?"

It was a troubling thought, from the frown on Mace's face, but a thought he was clearly not dismissing out of hand. "You want to amend the rule of one master/one padawan -."

With a shake of his head, no, Yoda decided to speak even more candidly, breaking in on Mace's next sentence.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Consider it we should, and soon, but no, speak I do of other things, attitudes we have perhaps shackled ourselves with."

"You have me curious now. What sort of attitudes?"

Yoda decided to speak even more candidly, coming at it backhandedly.

"Terribly pleased would I be, should young Skywalker be correct and his master alive is found. Not just I, many Jedi. Even more pleased would Knight Tachi be – loves Obi-Wan she does, and he, her, I also believe. Come to see that I have, though buried many years it has been."

"Obi-Wan? And Siri Tachi?" Mace looked shocked. "Carrying on all this time – ouch, what was that for!"

"Carrying on like Jedi they were," Yoda corrected, glaring at Mace. "Complain of either's devotion to duty, do you?"

"Well, no," Mace admitted, eyeing Yoda's stick. "But still – Obi-Wan?" He didn't know whether to grin, or shake his head in disapproval.

"Forbidden it is not."

"Not technically, no, but it's understood – no attachments," Mace countered. "We'll have to put a stop to it if Obi-Wan returns – ouch!"

"Stop you I should from your weekly excursions outside the Temple," Yoda threatened.

Mace gulped.

"Hear you did, comprehend you did not. Together they are not; never were they, separated by their masters and I and their own common sense when recovered it they did. Senior padawans they were; still years of training ahead of them."

"So if they're not, ah, 'together' why bring it up?"

"Brought it up did you! Spoke of love I did, that in their hearts. Interfered with duty it did not. Wondering I am if old buried feelings allowed voice between them they should be should Master Kenobi return. Love they do, but love without attachment, love without wish to possess; unselfish it is. Love, perhaps, a type the Order should not discourage or interfere with."

"Just what are you suggesting?" The stern Council head was back in charge, staring intently at the diminutive Jedi at his side.

"Master Windu, change is coming. Stop it we cannot. Embrace it we dare not. Resist it we should not. Test it perhaps we should – discreetly, and who better to test bonds of love that approach not attachments then two such exemplary knights so devoted to duty as even you admit?"

"Meaning just what exactly?"

"Nothing scandalous," Yoda assured Mace. "Allow themselves to acknowledge affection, be not afraid to show it in private. Between them only what they choose to do or not, as long as duty remains clear and control of emotions they retain. See if free of attachment they can remain; if cannot, doubt I any Jedi could."

"Humph," Mace grunted. He was willing to grant that Obi-Wan, even Knight Tachi, had enough self-control to not let emotions carry them away, and Obi-Wan in particular would always place duty to the Force above any other consideration.

"He's dead, Yoda, whether we like it or not, so we'll never know whether such a stickler for the Code would be appalled at your suggestion or not. You know how deeply he has internalized the Code, unlike his own master. Besides, there's not an ounce of deceit in his body: to behave one way in private and one in public would probably offend his sense of decency."

"Dead he must be," Yoda agreed. "Yet…young Anakin's insistence...unsettles me. Remember well I do the pain young Obi-Wan was in when his bond with Qui-Gon was severed. Took time to heal that did. A different pain plagues Skywalker – perhaps right he is. Troubling I find that."

To that sentiment, Mace could not disagree.

* * *

"Cobalt Station should be happy to see us," Kass announced, hoping to bring a spark of life back into Anakin Skywalker's eyes. All the padawans were worried about him. Ever since his master's death, he had all but stalked around camp, fought recklessly and slept restlessly.

It was worse since word came of the slaughter of General Norcuna's force. Anakin had not taken that loss well.

None of them had been particularly friendly before Jabiim, partially due to age differences and partially due to Anakin himself. The padawan had always been a bit aloof, not willing to socialize. The word was that he considered himself superior to the other padawans. Certainly, his condescending attitude grated on many.

Shared tragedy and close quarters had forced them all closer together, and the other padawans realized Anakin's aloofness was actually a bit of insecurity. He was different than they, and the differences had kept them separate.

Jabiim had given them all something in common, and even if Anakin still stubbornly believed his master was alive, he was without his master's direction and guidance. They all were, and they all now leaned on each other.

General Leska had assigned the "padawan pack" to escort duty, another thing that rankled Anakin. The weather conditions kept the Republic supply ships from landing and it was

critical to keep the on-planet supplies where most needed. Should the convey be attacked and the supplies lost, the battle for Jabiim would be far harder.

The young padawan bristled at being kept from action. In the midst of battle, he didn't have to think, only act. In battle there was no aching sense of loss: of missing his wife or of missing his master.

Before Anakin could reply, a loud blast occurred in front of them. Shards of mud erupted into the air, tinged red with the explosives. Two clone troopers lay unresponsive on the ground.

"When did they start using mines?" Kass swore as another explosion rocked the ground. "Halt the convey – conference!"

The padawans looked at each other. They were in charge; they needed to go forward but forward was blocked. There was an answer, there always was, they just had to find it.

"We must go forward," Anakin declared. "In order to do so, we must blow up the minefield. We can use the Force to sense the mines and to trigger them, clearing a path through."

The padawans looked at each other, unwilling to voice their thoughts, willing themselves the ability through sheer determination. None of them were close to their knighting. Finally, one spoke up.

"It will be a heavy draw on the Force for us. Can we do it?" Forced humor, it was Warble's way of gaining a consensus, for immediately all thought of Master Yoda's maxim: Do or do not, there is not try. It was a way of rallying behind Anakin's proposal.

"Have we a choice? Cobalt Station needs us and the Jabiimi separatists are behind us."

With a few minutes they agreed to follow Anakin's lead. It was exhausting, and the resulting explosions and fireballs shook the padawans as the heat warmed them….hands trembled…soon their bodies from the effort they were expending.

None of them faltered. They were Jedi.

* * *

Apha was worried.

His own body, once in prime physical condition, was slowly wasting away. No clone carried an excess of body fat, but the body was compact and well muscled, the bone structure underneath not at all prominent.

That was no longer true, and if he looked like this he didn't care to imagine what Kenobi looked like. While extremely fit, the Jedi was less muscular and more lean; he would show the effects of malnutrition and starvation sooner than Alpha. The guards even taunted him, speaking of the Jedi's inability to keep much in the way of food down since some aborted attempt at feeding him poisoned food.

The way one guard glowered and stared at a splinted finger during the retelling cheered Alpha up considerably. His general was not defeated, not yet, and not for a long time yet, no matter what was being done to him.

Someday, Alpha was going to take a lot of pleasure in wringing justice out of Asajj and Aidus's necks for what they had done, were doing, and were causing to be done to both him and his general. It would be up to him, for the Jedi was more likely to forgive them then retaliate.

Alpha was not a forgiving man. Not when his superior officers were at risk.

Protect your commanders. It was Order Number Two. Orders, always, came first, ahead of all other considerations.

There was at least one other consideration: warrior's honor. Alpha didn't like Ventress, but he really didn't like Aidus. The man called himself a warrior, but warriors were the last to revel in pain and death. They killed only in battle; they did what was necessary, but they did not smirk and smile as they taunted captives.

Such was not the way of a warrior; such was the way of a coward and a bully.

Alpha despised both.


	19. We Wear the Mask that Grins and Lies

_When things can't get much worse – they will! _Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't believe in luck – good or bad. He had forgotten there was often an inkling of truth in premonitions and visions – and thoughts such as that.

He had thought worse could only be his death, and while he wasn't eager to hurry to it, it was not anything he feared. He had lost track of time long ago, but Ventress hadn't plagued him in a while. That might be either good or bad news, but it had allowed him to direct more energy into healing.

He was also beginning to believe his efforts to free himself were showing signs of success.

He didn't know yet that it _would_ get worse: the physical pain both lessened and increased by psychic pain. The ultimate horror for a Jedi though he didn't yet know it, was about to ensnare him.

For all its fearsome capabilities, the wounds it inflicted were not truly wounds of the body, but of the mind and soul. The pains of the body, as real as they were, were only phantoms.

Cramped muscles fighting wounds, breathing harshly through a bruised throat that was so swollen it barely admitted air, Obi-Wan only knew the worst was not yet behind him when Ventress stalked in bearing some limp object, its purpose unknowable. His eyes were drawn to it; it reeked of the Force, but the Force twisted to evil ends and possibly capable of twisting the Force within him.

"You strain my patience, Kenobi – you resist poison, you resist pain – but no one, Jedi or not, can resist this. You will become your own torturer – and in the end, either you will submit by choice or at your own hands – or die."

"Never!" he forced out the word.

Aidus clamped his hands around the Jedi's swollen neck, immobilizing his head as Ventress held the object up. It was a mask, despair and darkness spilling from it in malevolent waves of evil, and it was roughly pulled over his head. Tight-fitting, it was rolled down over his skull like another layer of skin, leaving only his eyes, nose and mouth free.

Even at the first touch of it, Obi-Wan sensed utter evil and thrashed wildly to avoid it, but a fist stunned him and he could feel the hood being wrenched down, slithering almost over his skin like something alive. His skin shrank from the contact; every nerve and every hair on his head tried to crawl away from its touch.

Insubstantial fingers of ice burrowed into his mind, dripping tendrils of filth and poison into those last bastions of self he had been safeguarding and utterly stripping away his protection, stripping the Force away from him for he could feel it shrinking away, draining from him, fleeing him for its own safety.

"What…?" he stuttered from a throat raspy with days, or was it weeks, of screams that he hadn't been able to restrain when the blades dug their deepest and the blood ran the warmest down his chilled flesh.

Even now, he hated to close his eyes, for then it became all too real and he lived it all over again…

"A Sith torture mask," Ventress said, a sneer on her face. "I'll let you discover for yourself just how it works."

Discover he did, all too soon.

He reached for the Force…

…_Force help me_ – only to recoil in even worse horror. She was right.

He was staring into the heart of darkness and he knew then that he was lost, for the heart he was looking into – was his own.

A scream was ripped from his throat – and Ventress smiled.

"It begins," Asajj gloated, arms crossed as the Jedi writhed and finally hung limp. "Obi-Wan, welcome to your dark side. As of now, you are defeated, for you have started down the dark path. There is no escape."

"He just hangs there?" Aidus asked, disappointed. The fearsome torture device wrung a scream of utter anguish from the Jedi and then – nothing. No tears, no screams, no blood.

No pain.

"The Jedi suffers, Aidus," Ventress assured her aide. "Or will, when he wakens. The shock has overwhelmed his nervous system. The pain the mask inflicts is directly proportional to the amount of the pitiful light within the Jedi, as well as his Force abilities. Obi-Wan is more powerful than I thought. The sweeter my revenge will be."

* * *

Jabiim was not a planet, a battle, conducive to pleasant dreams. Jabiim was misery multiplied by a factor of several. Despite that, Anakin had found his sleep increasingly interrupted by vague feelings of darkness and despair, of pain that reached deep within the soul.

He suspected it was more than just the terrible conditions on Jabiim that tormented his sleep. It was Obi-Wan. His master was alive. He was convinced of that, though "why" and "how" were unanswered. The most important question was "where."

It could have been the effects of Jabiim, alone, for casualties were mounting and the Republic was not gaining any advantage on the sodden ground. Air support was all but non-existent, the charged atmosphere making it impossible to fight except on the ground, where the opposition held the advantage.

Weeks had passed, but Anakin still would not accept that Obi-Wan was dead; his rest always troubled and the thought that his master was alive and in need of him always in the back of his mind. Sleep offered no relief; sleep only brought discomfort and despair, which one night suddenly escalated into feelings of near panic and blank horror.

With a harsh sob of "Master," Anakin bolted upright from a disturbing sleep. His heart was pounding. Obi-Wan – it was Obi-Wan. He just knew. Something terrible had just happened to him.

Dead – he wasn't dead. Death might have been a mercy; Obi-Wan's death would have seen his padawan in deep mourning, not this chaotic sense of utter anguish that had Anakin reeling and wondering if death would have been kinder to the man.

He reached into the Force, but still, his master's light was still curiously absent from it. The bond itself carried a slight charge, a tingle, as if for a second a nerve had been struck or a spark ignited that could not be sustained. A scream, an echo of an agonized cry, bounced around the now icy cavern of Anakin's heart, for the sound was not physical. It wasn't real, not in the sense of being physical, but it had existed.

Something terrible was happening to his master, something unthinkable and horrific in its implications, something so atrocious that the Force carried the disturbance to him. Obi-Wan was suffering, in great pain, and the agony was so severe that hints of it carried to his padawan.

The young Jedi pounded his fists on his knees, biting back the screams of outrage that he wished to unleash into the Force, biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. Had he a target, he would have lashed out, beaten whatever was at hand into submission. Had his mother suffered as Obi-Wan was suffering even now? Had she screamed silent screams, knowing Anakin would have saved her if he could, but Anakin would not – he would never be in time?

"Mom, I wanted to come…you know I wanted to come, but they told me it was just dreams," he whispered, even as a small part of his mind pointed out that he had never once told anyone – anyone – that his dreams were of his mother in pain, suffering, dying.

Would things have been different, had he unburdened himself, confessed that his dreams were nightmares? He had successfully concealed the many nights he had awoken in a cold sweat, preferring to let his master think he merely missed his mother. Why?

He had thought Obi-Wan would dismiss his dreams just as he had done – as mere dreams that would pass. Obi-Wan was right: dreams did pass in time, but his had not been mere dreams, but visions of a future that might not have had to be.

His master's genuine grief and sympathy after Anakin's tearful admission had shown him that Obi-Wan was not as unsympathetic as he had thought.

Even as he had healed after Geonosis, learning to use his prosthetic arm, mourning his mother and mourning his loss of innocence and faith in the pure goodness of the Force, his master had come to stay by his side almost as soon as his own wounds had been treated. He hadn't quite registered it then, not consciously, but Obi-Wan had changed in just a few days: aged, softened, allowed regret and sorrow to bleed through the bond.

"Anakin. I'm so sorry." The reserved Jedi, the man who knew how to admonish but not how to comfort sat by his side, face contrite. "Forgive me?"

_Forgive you! You're the one who drove me to my anger, my rage, my grief – it's your fault, all your fault!_ Inside Anakin seethed, ready to push Obi-Wan away – and he saw the tears glistening in the back of his master's eyes, allowed himself to really see and feel the sincerity of Obi-Wan's feelings, his deep affection for his padawan and his concern - and Anakin collapsed into the waiting arms. Strong arms, warm arms, gentle arms – the arms of a man who cared.

"Mom, my mother's dead." Sobs tore from him; sobs dampened the tunic of the always neat Jedi as Anakin's hands twitched the cloth into wrinkles and folds under his fingers.

"I know. I am so sorry." No reminders that she was one with the Force; that she was at peace, or now a part of him. Obi-Wan let go his Jedi self and showed only the man he might have been, perhaps always had been inside that Jedi exterior. Compassionate, caring, and comforting: grieving for a woman he had never known and the son who had loved and lost her.

When his tears had trickled away, he pulled away and looked Obi-Wan in the eyes. Really looked, with both his eyes and his heart, and saw the buried wounds and pain kept silently bound within him.

"You hurt, too. You really – grieve."

With a shrug, Obi-Wan accepted the words with a soft yes. "Release has not come for me yet, as it will. So many died…if only I had been killed, rather than captured…."

No words about Anakin's defiance of orders on the ship or in the hangar when he attacked Dooku. Accepting, as always the burdens of mistakes or bad luck, taking on others pain when possible, carrying the weight of the universe because he could, and no one else wished to.

The hollow pit that replaced his stomach while watching Obi-Wan seemingly cut down during his transmission from Geonosis to the Council, the horrified outrage that Dooku was about to strike his helpless master dead without mercy in front of his eyes in the hangar spread through him, a curious mixture of cold numbness and searing heat.

_I lost Qui-Gon and I lost my mother – I failed my mother and I almost failed my master_. The thought coiled through him, an icy serpent squeezing his heart. How could Obi-Wan wish he had died – how could his master _do_ that to him!

"Don't blame yourself, Master," he said, and for that moment he truly meant the words, a moment that slowly dissolved. Anakin needed someone to blame, someone to take the burden of his actions off his own shoulders, and someone to blame for his own steps off the Jedi path. His master was already shouldering those burdens, even the ones he was unaware of; blaming Obi-Wan did not burden the Jedi any further and they lightened the padawan's own.

"So many died," the soft words were quiet, barely audible.

"Thank the Force you lived," Anakin said, laying his good hand over one of his master's. On a sudden impulse, he pulled Obi-Wan into a hug, so his master wouldn't see the thoughts he harbored within his eyes. That sentiment, at least, was honest and came from the heart. He might lay blame for his weaknesses at his master's feet, but he would always love and honor the man he now knew better than ever. He would never allow harm to come to Obi-Wan.

Never.

He had sworn to never fail him, not to even come close as he had on Geonosis.

And yet he had failed to protect him, again. At whose feet did that failure lie?

Obi-Wan needed his padawan to protect him, for his own safety never came first with him. It was so like his master to help someone, even at the risk of his own life and even at the risk of orphaning his own padawan. Anakin forgot all the times he was frustrated when Obi-Wan held him back with a stern look and soft command: _They have their job to do, we have ours._

And once again, on Jabiim, Obi-Wan had rushed to help others – and disappeared. Obi-Wan would consider it a fair trade, to die so others would live, but Anakin would not.

It was unacceptable. The only consolation he had now was knowing that his master was alive – but where? For how long? In what shape?

He needed to talk to someone; talk to his wife. Padme would reassure him that Obi-Wan's disappearance was not his fault, not entirely. Padme could do what even his master could not: assuage his guilt by assuring him that she never expected him to be all powerful and all wise; to do his best was the best he should accept.

He tried to comm Padmé but couldn't reach her. So he decided to try Bant Eerin at the Temple. She was always kind and gentle, and would let him speak of his fears. He realized he hadn't spoken to her since Obi-Wan's disappearance – he hadn't told her himself of his master's absence and his certainty that he was alive and he hadn't told her the reason he stayed away from Obi-Wan's funeral. He had left it to others.

He owed it to his master, and he owed it to his master's best friend.

"You look terrible, Anakin," Bant said immediately when his figure coalesced before her. "Is it that bad there, or is it…," she hesitated, for what she had been about to say may have been true, but would also point out Anakin's failure as a Jedi to let go of his emotions and move on.

As much as she loved her best friend and missed his dry humor and wry grin, Bant had let him go. Holding on did no good for anyone.

"Both," he admitted frankly. 'I miss him, Bant, but I fear for him more. He's alive, but I dream of him once in a while. He's alive; I know he's alive. Obi-Wan is in pain, terrible pain, I just know it."

"Do you sense that, or - fear that?"

"Both. It's because I didn't sense his death that I know he's alive, and if he's alive and I don't sense him, it's because someone has him. If he was captured, he would have been on public display or executed – unless someone is keeping his capture secret – someone who hates him, or Jedi and that would mean – torture. And no one will allow me to save him because no one is willing to believe he is alive, to trust me on this."

Nobody had listened to him when he dreamed of his mother in pain. Because of their failures to listen, he had failed to save his mother. He had failed his training, and he had failed himself. His mother suffered needlessly, died needlessly and Anakin had all but damned himself needlessly.

Every denial of his role as savior harmed someone, and damned if Anakin was going to let anyone deny him his right to save others. Never again.

Bant's face went even more pale than normal. "You really believe he's alive, don't you? Would you even know where to look? Who would have him?" Only a sigh greeted her, and for a moment, the young man looked old and broken.

"I don't know – and it's killing me."

"I can see." Bant's certainty that Obi-Wan was long dead began to crumble under the padawan's forceful words. Was her best friend truly alive, truly suffering? It was an awful thought.

"Anakin, if you want to help Obi-Wan, you need to rest. Give yourself a sleep suggestion if you must. If you're right, he will need you and you need to be ready when the time comes to save him. Promise?"

His nod was his promise. Bant continued to look at him, then she added softly, "Anakin – if Obi-Wan is alive, find him, please. Bring him home."

His gaze was a promise. "My master is alive, Bant. I will find a way to save him."


	20. The Test of Courage

**Note to readers:** for those who don't know, this is directly inspired from a battle in the Clone Wars comics. I have taken liberties with it, expanded upon it, and added a Siriwan twist. Pretty much everything Ventress does to Obi-Wan is summed up in 2 or sentences in the comic; my method of their rescape is totally different.

When I started this story, I really wasn't sure how much "Siriwan" would make it into the story or in what degree. For those who don't want to see Obi-Wan in a relationship - open, hidden, or denied (not giving anything away) - you probably should bail either now or in a few chapters (after Anakin and Obi-Wan are reunited and the Jedi are on their way to the Temple - there is a natural spot there where one can end one's reading and avoid any "relationship issues.")

He was drowning, suffocating, struggling to escape…he had tumbled into a pit of darkness that was even now loathe to let him go. It was a pit that allowed no light to sully its pure darkness; it was the heart of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He traveled, if one could call crawling, "traveling," its labyrinth depths and twisting pathways, but each passage led to a locked doorway, each with its own ominous label – _Despair - Hate – Envy – Anger – Resentment._ Each door creaked open before him, a mere slit, each waited for him to choose one and to step through, but he refused. He would not walk that path.

_**It is your escape – each can be your pathway to freedom – each is your inner heart, the source of your true strength if you but accept it**_. The whispers gradually swelled and merged, hammered at his mind. _**Choose one…and be who you were meant to be.**_

_I am who I choose to be, not what I am capable of being. I do not have to hate, to envy, to rage. I can choose another path. I have chosen another path and I will not forsake it._

_**You choose weakness, then, when you are capable of so much more**_ The voice that thundered was the voice of the Force. _**See what you choose to be**__…._

He was **weak**, for he shunned such power as would be his should he just stretch out his hand and take what was his. He was **weak**; for he would not take what he needed, only accept what he was given. He was **weak**, for he would not embrace anger and fear, instead thinking to hide behind compassion.

_**Free your anger, free your hate - free them and they will free you**__…no_, he moaned, deep within himself, for the seductive voice was the voice of the Force itself. _No, they shall only enslave me._

He had never needed the Force – the one he knew, the one that had fled - so badly in his life. Don't reach for it! Don't. Reach. For it. Don't.

Despite himself, he reached…and shuddered as the icy fingers of darkness closed around him… smothering the light, extinguishing hope, overwhelming basic human decency.

The light went out, and Obi-Wan Kenobi – fell into darkness

Then there was – nothing.

Pain; pulsating pain. Pain of the body and pain of the spirit. Pain; so much pain when he struggled back to consciousness. Pain of the heart - and pain of the soul. Instinctively he

reached for the Force – and flinched even as he barely brushed it: he burned even as he shivered; he was a human torch of ice and flame.

That moment, that absolute numbness of shock, cleared his mind and somehow he knew to hold onto that blankness.

That moment, that instinct would be what saved him, though he knew it not. Not then, not yet then, but when he remembered how it felt.

Gradually, thought returned. One thought: just _what_ had happened? He had reached for the Force – and recoiled at its touch, for the touch of the Force – was agony when once it had been comforting.

Another thought slowly took shape: thoughts alone did not bring pain. Something else triggered the mask. Something had triggered it before, something had triggered – evil – so pure and absolute that it had nearly consumed him, throwing him ever deeper into that spiraling darkness until only unconsciousness broke its hold.

The mask had found something deep within him; something he had not known existed. Something he had no wish to know existed.

He was darkness at his core, a pathetic excuse for a Jedi, yet all those who embraced the light were, by definition, pathetic weaklings. Cowards. Hypocrites, all.

_No, not true…not true_; he fought free of the thought with difficulty. Even if the mask found the core of the one who wore it, if one was truly Dark at heart, one could chose to act in the Light. It was one's choices and one's behavior that determined if one acted in the Light.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would only allow himself to act in that Light he loved and had sworn to uphold. He had no choice but to defeat the mask for he would not allow himself to live in Darkness.

If it could not be defeated, it could, perhaps, be disarmed and one way of disarming the mask was to merely avoid triggering it. If merely _thinking_ did not trigger the mask then, just what did? As much as he didn't want to relive the excruciating pain to find out, he had to know. Needed to know. _Know thy enemy; only then can one defeat it._

Relaxing so as to better absorb the expected pain, shielding as much of his mind as he could, he ever so lightly brushed the Force and slammed back into a hazy awareness of pain. Pain: so much pain.

Pained awareness of all that he lacked within himself; pained awareness of what did fill him.

Despair. Weakness. Cowardice.

Fear.

Too **weak** to stand up to Ventress, too **cowardly **to join her, too** weak** – _no._ **Yes.** _No._ **Yes!** _No!_

**Fear**: that he wasn't worthy, that he had no purpose so why not die? Blow himself up on Bandomeer and be called a hero in death, rather than a reject in life.

_No, I would have done it for them – to save them, not to end my unhappiness._

**Resentment**: for Anakin for nearly stealing his master away, for Qui-Gon, for so nearly abandoning him for Anakin.

_No, no…I knew how wrong I was when such pettiness touched me and I released it…released it long ago._

**Cowardice**: for he sacrificed love for duty, choose the easy path, threw away the loving arms of a woman for the sterile, passionless life of a Jedi.

_No…gave her up for her happiness, mine…because as strong as our love was – we could no more give up being Jedi than we could stop loving but love remained – even as we remained Jedi._

**Despair**: for no one he counted as friend, as padawan, as comrade came for him. He had been abandoned to his fate, for Jedi did not care, had no attachments. He had been sacrificed on the Altar of the Greater Good: they would not risk saving one at the cost of many.

_No…if they haven't come, they cannot come…and if saving me, saving Alpha, means losing many, it is right that they don't try – the right choice. My life, our lives, are not worth the sacrifice of others' lives_.

It took everything he had to try to dredge out something to counter the insidious whispers, to not give in to them. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, but he stubbornly fought back until the whispers changed tactics.

The Force now beguiled him…offering hope, but its offer was one that he would not accept, could not accept, for the price was one that he was not willing to pay.

_**Strength will free you from this prison, strength you have within you. Know what gives you strength. Unleash that which you have bound within you. **_

**Hate; anger, too: **for the Zabrak that killed Qui-Gon Jinn: **hate** and **anger** both saved you by giving you the strength to kill the Sith.

_No, it was anger, not hate, and it almost killed me. Letting go, letting go and letting the light of the Force flow through me is what saved me._

Never anger, never hate. Those were dark emotions. Those were not the emotions of the Force, for the Force was life, it was death; never wanton cruelty and destruction. It was the cycle of life, of death, of life's rebirth.

_**Free your anger, free your hate - free them and they will free you…**__no_, he moaned, deep within himself; it was the first time in his life he denied the command of the Force itself, for this Force was a stranger to him. _No, they shall only enslave me._

This was not the Force that Obi-Wan Kenobi knew, followed implicitly. This was not the Force that gave him strength; this was the Force that tried to strip him of his strength, deceitful, painful, and seductive – but it would not be successful. He would not allow it.

_Never shall you have me!_ his mind cried in defiance. But the voices only grew stronger as his resistance held firm.

Finally, the voices fell silent, for Obi-Wan Kenobi fought no more.  
The voices ceased clamoring at his mind as soon as he silenced it. The thudding of his heart slowly settled into a normal beat; he could finally draw a still-shaky breath. For the moment, he was untouched.

Deep within his subconscious, the merest tendril of hope had awoken: a glimmer of possibilities of how to overcome the mask, should it be even possible. In his conscious mind, that tiny portion aware and thinking, Obi-Wan knew somehow he would do battle with the mask, that somehow he would defeat it. He didn't know how, but as with the maggots, when in need, he would find a way.

_Do, or do not. There is no try._

He needed the Force; could it be both salvation and opponent? Could he succeed without its aid?

Touching the Force was akin to breathing; it had been difficult enough to have his access to it weakened, but to have it – _hurt_ – that part of it that lingered – was practically unbearable. The Force was his solace, his anchor, his strength. Without it – he was so much less than he was otherwise.

He licked his lips, tasted salt, and realized without real surprise that he had been pushed to tears. The tears of a Jedi – it sounded incongruous, for a Jedi knew how to keep his tears inside. But a Jedi stripped of the Force – was only partially a Jedi, and far more human.

It also sparked a faint memory – a legend, a tale. _The Tears of a Jedi_ – but it would not come to him. Some tale told to the crechlings, no doubt, something comforting from a time when even Jedi younglings knew tears and fears that they would later conquer.

Tears of a Jedi – too bad tears couldn't defeat the mask, for tears he had plenty, tears torn from him by unrelenting pain of the body, and of the loss of the Force that was as life to him.

Dared he think, could he think, of a way of defeating the mask and hence this perversion of the Force? It slowly dawned on him that he already was, already had been, and was still thinking – he had already battled thoughts that had tried to weaken him. He hadn't won, but he hadn't lost, either.

If merely thinking, alone, didn't necessarily trigger the mask, what did? What about memories? What effect did the mask have on positive emotions?

Ever so cautiously, he sifted through his memories for one pleasant: found one. It was the first bead he'd plaited into Anakin's stubbly little braid. His hands had fumbled a little, not yet as sure as it would become with practice. Anakin had been almost giddy with delight. His joy had been contagious; it had brought a pleased smile to his own face, even as it brought the faintest of ones to his lips now. His padawan had taken his first step forward on the Jedi path.

No pain. Thank the Force, no pain.

He needed to focus on pleasurable memories, avoid the less pleasant ones.

He had, at least, learned one thing. Negative emotions were magnified, positive ones were unaffected. All he had to do was avoid the one and embrace the other – oh, so easy in theory. A lot of good that would do next time Ventress or Aidus came through the door intent on – _no more, please, no more _– how much abuse should a person have to take…how much more pain could a mortal body bear….

Doomed: he was doomed, he would fail once more – he would die at Ventress's hands, die without the Force at his side, never to rejoin its currents….his mind shrieked and struggled to escape this awful fate – and somehow Obi-Wan wrenched free from the thoughts, drained and empty.

It was a long while before he dared to open his eyes, to think, to do more than just _exist_.

Something deep within him urged him desperately to…stop fighting the fear and panic and let it pass through him.

_Let it pass through you_. Oh, easier said than done.

He didn't dare be scared – but Force, he knew he was. A very real fear – and this fear he didn't dare acknowledge for he could not release it into the Force - it turned against him even as he tried, the action pure reflex. The very touch of it was loathsome, it bit and clawed; it twisted against him and dripped venom, turning light to darkness and goodness to evil.

_Let it pass through you!_

He grabbed onto that phrase as a lifeline; clung to it, tried to mentally pull himself up hand over hand away from the pool of negativity threatening to drown him. _Focus on breathing, focus on letting it go, focus on releasing it._ It took everything he had to let the emotions flow through him and dredge out something to counter them, to not give in to them, to let go of this aspect of the Force that he didn't wish to know.

The Force had not abandoned him; it had been twisted and perverted into a weapon. The touch of it was unbearable physically and mentally. The Force itself was now his enemy.

The Force could not help him now, only hinder him.

To all intent and purposes, the Jedi master was now nothing more than a mere man – he was a Jedi without the Force. But even without the Force, a Jedi was still more than just a mere man. He had strength, courage and will power and an ability to adapt to circumstances.

A man and a Jedi, already half dead and now with nothing to sustain him but his own mind and will – a mind, and a will, that was grasped within icy coils of dread and inky darkness punctuated by ripples of fire along his nerves, where the Force itself became an ally of darkness and something to be feared and avoided.

He did neither, accepting the pain.

He experimented with tiny pulses of Force, trying to acclimate to the pain, to redirect it, to find a way to get beyond it so he could function. Face what you fear to face, accept it – accept it – _no, no, I can't – yes, yes, you must _– face it, accept it, let it pass through you – let it pass – release it.

The horror of it was too overwhelming. He couldn't bear to face it, let alone accept it.

This Force wanted everything he wanted to hold onto. Obi-Wan tried to hold onto hope, to his principles, to his honor but everything was slipping away from him. Memories of a time before now were elusive; hopes for the morrow were only memories of a dream. There were no yesterdays and there would be no tomorrows, for there was only this, now, today.

Ultimately, the fight proved too much and he again sank into smothering darkness, struggling all the way until the fight was no longer sustainable.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had not won this fight. Not this time. But it wasn't over yet.

He shuddered awake he didn't know how much later, aching in every muscle, his very mind raw and tender. Out of habit Obi-Wan reached for the Force and every nerve flamed and twitched at once. He had never feared death, though he had no wish to face the actual _dying_, but dying had to be far more pleasant a process than living at this moment.

He now knew down to the marrow of his bones, down to each nerve and each cell, just how awful evil could be – merciless, unending, and cruel – how its talons bit deep into flesh and how its putrid breath poisoned one's soul, for the wounds were scratched deep on his body and the burning venom of hate, anger, and fear trickled through him.

The more he struggled against them, the deeper the emotions cut. He did his best to silence the screams, to let them rage unrestrained within his mind but never to pass his lips. For a time he even succeeded. But some screams could not be constrained inside, this agony burrowed too deep to go unvoiced.

And so the screams were pulled from him, the harsh and broken sounds echoing in that chamber, mingling with the haunting remnants of those screams that were all that were left of those who had gone before him. He was not alone in that cell, not the only victim. Too much of those earlier victims lingered, for they had shed their pain, their screams, and their tears when they had found blessed peace in death.

Tears: he had always had plenty for others, those poor souls broken and twisted, some never the same. As a Jedi padawan, he had thought himself inured to life's tragedies; he had faced all too many; had learned how to deal with the experiences. Then had come that one mission, after years of missions, and nothing had prepared him for that.

Obi-Wan still remembered shuddering awake, gasping, to find himself in his master's embrace, his strong arms encircling the shivering padawan. Qui-Gon had whispered his name over and over, an anchor against the horror, holding him tight against his chest, rubbing his back, just holding him as the memories spilled forth. It wasn't fitting for a padawan, a young man no longer a boy, to choke back cries in the arms of his master, but the head bent over his didn't rebuke him but encouraged him to feel it and then to release it.

Remembrances of pain and agony had seared into his very mind, pulled from the Force and insinuated within the coils of his heart – and Qui-Gon had allowed his padawan to face the horrors before gently reaching in through the bond and showing Obi-Wan how to release the horrors and shield himself from further intrusion.

Qui-Gon had shown a father's heart and a mentor's guidance for the remainder of that long night and the several that had followed, until his apprentice had found solace and healing in the Force.

_Yes…face them…don't fight them and they lose their power over you. _The words became a litany, a balm against a tormented mind, an anchor in a heaving sea that was swamping him. Gradually, the words reached deep, deep enough to still the screams in an exhausted mind…brought forth tears rather than screams as the mind of a Jedi began to reassume control over the primal brain reflexes of the man.

Reaching into the comfort of memories to combat the pain, he almost felt again the warm circle of arms around him, the soft whisper of his name in that never-forgotten voice, the gentle brush of ghost fingers across his face.

Somewhere in the Force, a ghost cried.


	21. The Test of Courage is to Live Not Die

He was drowning, suffocating, struggling to escape…he had tumbled into a pit of darkness that was even now loathe to let him go. It was a pit that allowed no light to sully its pure darkness; it was the heart of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He traveled, if one could call crawling, "traveling," its labyrinth depths and twisting pathways, but each passage led to a locked doorway, each with its own ominous label – _Despair - Hate – Envy – Anger – Resentment._ Each door creaked open before him, a mere slit, each waited for him to choose one and to step through, but he refused. He would not walk that path.

_**It is your escape – each can be your pathway to freedom – each is your inner heart, the source of your true strength if you but accept it**_. The whispers gradually swelled and merged, hammered at his mind. _**Choose one…and be who you were meant to be.**_

_I am who I choose to be, not what I am capable of being. I do not have to hate, to envy, to rage. I can choose another path. I have chosen another path and I will not forsake it._

_**You choose weakness, then, when you are capable of so much more**_ The voice that thundered was the voice of the Force. _**See what you choose to be**__…._

He was **weak**, for he shunned such power as would be his should he just stretch out his hand and take what was his. He was **weak**; for he would not take what he needed, only accept what he was given. He was **weak**, for he would not embrace anger and fear, instead thinking to hide behind compassion.

_**Free your anger, free your hate - free them and they will free you**__…no_, he moaned, deep within himself, for the seductive voice was the voice of the Force itself. _No, they shall only enslave me._

He had never needed the Force – the one he knew, the one that had fled - so badly in his life. Don't reach for it! Don't. Reach. For it. Don't.

Despite himself, he reached…and shuddered as the icy fingers of darkness closed around him… smothering the light, extinguishing hope, overwhelming basic human decency.

The light went out, and Obi-Wan Kenobi – fell into darkness

Then there was – nothing.

Pain; pulsating pain. Pain of the body and pain of the spirit. Pain; so much pain when he struggled back to consciousness. Pain of the heart - and pain of the soul. Instinctively he

reached for the Force – and flinched even as he barely brushed it: he burned even as he shivered; he was a human torch of ice and flame.

That moment, that absolute numbness of shock, cleared his mind and somehow he knew to hold onto that blankness.

That moment, that instinct would be what saved him, though he knew it not. Not then, not yet then, but when he remembered how it felt.

Gradually, thought returned. One thought: just _what_ had happened? He had reached for the Force – and recoiled at its touch, for the touch of the Force – was agony when once it had been comforting.

Another thought slowly took shape: thoughts alone did not bring pain. Something else triggered the mask. Something had triggered it before, something had triggered – evil – so pure and absolute that it had nearly consumed him, throwing him ever deeper into that spiraling darkness until only unconsciousness broke its hold.

The mask had found something deep within him; something he had not known existed. Something he had no wish to know existed.

He was darkness at his core, a pathetic excuse for a Jedi, yet all those who embraced the light were, by definition, pathetic weaklings. Cowards. Hypocrites, all.

_No, not true…not true_; he fought free of the thought with difficulty. Even if the mask found the core of the one who wore it, if one was truly Dark at heart, one could chose to act in the Light. It was one's choices and one's behavior that determined if one acted in the Light.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would only allow himself to act in that Light he loved and had sworn to uphold. He had no choice but to defeat the mask for he would not allow himself to live in Darkness.

If it could not be defeated, it could, perhaps, be disarmed and one way of disarming the mask was to merely avoid triggering it. If merely _thinking_ did not trigger the mask then, just what did? As much as he didn't want to relive the excruciating pain to find out, he had to know. Needed to know. _Know thy enemy; only then can one defeat it._

Relaxing so as to better absorb the expected pain, shielding as much of his mind as he could, he ever so lightly brushed the Force and slammed back into a hazy awareness of pain. Pain: so much pain.

Pained awareness of all that he lacked within himself; pained awareness of what did fill him.

Despair. Weakness. Cowardice.

Fear.

Too **weak** to stand up to Ventress, too **cowardly **to join her, too** weak** – _no._ **Yes.** _No._ **Yes!** _No!_

**Fear**: that he wasn't worthy, that he had no purpose so why not die? Blow himself up on Bandomeer and be called a hero in death, rather than a reject in life.

_No, I would have done it for them – to save them, not to end my unhappiness._

**Resentment**: for Anakin for nearly stealing his master away, for Qui-Gon, for so nearly abandoning him for Anakin.

_No, no…I knew how wrong I was when such pettiness touched me and I released it…released it long ago._

**Cowardice**: for he sacrificed love for duty, choose the easy path, threw away the loving arms of a woman for the sterile, passionless life of a Jedi.

_No…gave her up for her happiness, mine…because as strong as our love was – we could no more give up being Jedi than we could stop loving but love remained – even as we remained Jedi._

**Despair**: for no one he counted as friend, as padawan, as comrade came for him. He had been abandoned to his fate, for Jedi did not care, had no attachments. He had been sacrificed on the Altar of the Greater Good: they would not risk saving one at the cost of many.

_No…if they haven't come, they cannot come…and if saving me, saving Alpha, means losing many, it is right that they don't try – the right choice. My life, our lives, are not worth the sacrifice of others' lives_.

It took everything he had to try to dredge out something to counter the insidious whispers, to not give in to them. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, but he stubbornly fought back until the whispers changed tactics.

The Force now beguiled him…offering hope, but its offer was one that he would not accept, could not accept, for the price was one that he was not willing to pay.

_**Strength will free you from this prison, strength you have within you. Know what gives you strength. Unleash that which you have bound within you. **_

**Hate; anger, too: **for the Zabrak that killed Qui-Gon Jinn: **hate** and **anger** both saved you by giving you the strength to kill the Sith.

_No, it was anger, not hate, and it almost killed me. Letting go, letting go and letting the light of the Force flow through me is what saved me._

Never anger, never hate. Those were dark emotions. Those were not the emotions of the Force, for the Force was life, it was death; never wanton cruelty and destruction. It was the cycle of life, of death, of life's rebirth.

_**Free your anger, free your hate - free them and they will free you…**__no_, he moaned, deep within himself; it was the first time in his life he denied the command of the Force itself, for this Force was a stranger to him. _No, they shall only enslave me._

This was not the Force that Obi-Wan Kenobi knew, followed implicitly. This was not the Force that gave him strength; this was the Force that tried to strip him of his strength, deceitful, painful, and seductive – but it would not be successful. He would not allow it.

_Never shall you have me!_ his mind cried in defiance. But the voices only grew stronger as his resistance held firm.

Finally, the voices fell silent, for Obi-Wan Kenobi fought no more.

The voices ceased clamoring at his mind as soon as he silenced it. The thudding of his heart slowly settled into a normal beat; he could finally draw a still-shaky breath. For the moment, he was untouched.

Deep within his subconscious, the merest tendril of hope had awoken: a glimmer of possibilities of how to overcome the mask, should it be even possible. In his conscious mind, that tiny portion aware and thinking, Obi-Wan knew somehow he would do battle with the mask, that somehow he would defeat it. He didn't know how, but as with the maggots, when in need, he would find a way.

_Do, or do not. There is no try._

He needed the Force; could it be both salvation and opponent? Could he succeed without its aid?

Touching the Force was akin to breathing; it had been difficult enough to have his access to it weakened, but to have it – _hurt_ – that part of it that lingered – was practically unbearable. The Force was his solace, his anchor, his strength. Without it – he was so much less than he was otherwise.

He licked his lips, tasted salt, and realized without real surprise that he had been pushed to tears. The tears of a Jedi – it sounded incongruous, for a Jedi knew how to keep his tears inside. But a Jedi stripped of the Force – was only partially a Jedi, and far more human.

It also sparked a faint memory – a legend, a tale. _The Tears of a Jedi_ – but it would not come to him. Some tale told to the crechlings, no doubt, something comforting from a time when even Jedi younglings knew tears and fears that they would later conquer.

Tears of a Jedi – too bad tears couldn't defeat the mask, for tears he had plenty, tears torn from him by unrelenting pain of the body, and of the loss of the Force that was as life to him.

Dared he think, could he think, of a way of defeating the mask and hence this perversion of the Force? It slowly dawned on him that he already was, already had been, and was still thinking – he had already battled thoughts that had tried to weaken him. He hadn't won, but he hadn't lost, either.

If merely thinking, alone, didn't necessarily trigger the mask, what did? What about memories? What effect did the mask have on positive emotions?

Ever so cautiously, he sifted through his memories for one pleasant: found one. It was the first bead he'd plaited into Anakin's stubbly little braid. His hands had fumbled a little, not yet as sure as it would become with practice. Anakin had been almost giddy with delight. His joy had been contagious; it had brought a pleased smile to his own face, even as it brought the faintest of ones to his lips now. His padawan had taken his first step forward on the Jedi path.

No pain. Thank the Force, no pain.

He needed to focus on pleasurable memories, avoid the less pleasant ones.

He had, at least, learned one thing. Negative emotions were magnified, positive ones were unaffected. All he had to do was avoid the one and embrace the other – oh, so easy in theory. A lot of good that would do next time Ventress or Aidus came through the door intent on – _no more, please, no more _– how much abuse should a person have to take…how much more pain could a mortal body bear….

Doomed: he was doomed, he would fail once more – he would die at Ventress's hands, die without the Force at his side, never to rejoin its currents….his mind shrieked and struggled to escape this awful fate – and somehow Obi-Wan wrenched free from the thoughts, drained and empty.

It was a long while before he dared to open his eyes, to think, to do more than just _exist_.

Something deep within him urged him desperately to…stop fighting the fear and panic and let it pass through him.

_Let it pass through you_. Oh, easier said than done.

He didn't dare be scared – but Force, he knew he was. A very real fear – and this fear he didn't dare acknowledge for he could not release it into the Force - it turned against him even as he tried, the action pure reflex. The very touch of it was loathsome, it bit and clawed; it twisted against him and dripped venom, turning light to darkness and goodness to evil.

_Let it pass through you!_

He grabbed onto that phrase as a lifeline; clung to it, tried to mentally pull himself up hand over hand away from the pool of negativity threatening to drown him. _Focus on breathing, focus on letting it go, focus on releasing it._ It took everything he had to let the emotions flow through him and dredge out something to counter them, to not give in to them, to let go of this aspect of the Force that he didn't wish to know.

The Force had not abandoned him; it had been twisted and perverted into a weapon. The touch of it was unbearable physically and mentally. The Force itself was now his enemy.

The Force could not help him now, only hinder him.

To all intent and purposes, the Jedi master was now nothing more than a mere man – he was a Jedi without the Force. But even without the Force, a Jedi was still more than just a mere man. He had strength, courage and will power and an ability to adapt to circumstances.

A man and a Jedi, already half dead and now with nothing to sustain him but his own mind and will – a mind, and a will, that was grasped within icy coils of dread and inky darkness punctuated by ripples of fire along his nerves, where the Force itself became an ally of darkness and something to be feared and avoided.

He did neither, accepting the pain.

He experimented with tiny pulses of Force, trying to acclimate to the pain, to redirect it, to find a way to get beyond it so he could function. Face what you fear to face, accept it – accept it – _no, no, I can't – yes, yes, you must _– face it, accept it, let it pass through you – let it pass – release it.

The horror of it was too overwhelming. He couldn't bear to face it, let alone accept it.

This Force wanted everything he wanted to hold onto. Obi-Wan tried to hold onto hope, to his principles, to his honor but everything was slipping away from him. Memories of a time before now were elusive; hopes for the morrow were only memories of a dream. There were no yesterdays and there would be no tomorrows, for there was only this, now, today.

Ultimately, the fight proved too much and he again sank into smothering darkness, struggling all the way until the fight was no longer sustainable.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had not won this fight. Not this time. But it wasn't over yet.

He shuddered awake he didn't know how much later, aching in every muscle, his very mind raw and tender. Out of habit Obi-Wan reached for the Force and every nerve flamed and twitched at once. He had never feared death, though he had no wish to face the actual _dying_, but dying had to be far more pleasant a process than living at this moment.

He now knew down to the marrow of his bones, down to each nerve and each cell, just how awful evil could be – merciless, unending, and cruel – how its talons bit deep into flesh and how its putrid breath poisoned one's soul, for the wounds were scratched deep on his body and the burning venom of hate, anger, and fear trickled through him.

The more he struggled against them, the deeper the emotions cut. He did his best to silence the screams, to let them rage unrestrained within his mind but never to pass his lips. For a time he even succeeded. But some screams could not be constrained inside, this agony burrowed too deep to go unvoiced.

And so the screams were pulled from him, the harsh and broken sounds echoing in that chamber, mingling with the haunting remnants of those screams that were all that were left of those who had gone before him. He was not alone in that cell, not the only victim. Too much of those earlier victims lingered, for they had shed their pain, their screams, and their tears when they had found blessed peace in death.

Tears: he had always had plenty for others, those poor souls broken and twisted, some never the same. As a Jedi padawan, he had thought himself inured to life's tragedies; he had faced all too many; had learned how to deal with the experiences. Then had come that one mission, after years of missions, and nothing had prepared him for that.

Obi-Wan still remembered shuddering awake, gasping, to find himself in his master's embrace, his strong arms encircling the shivering padawan. Qui-Gon had whispered his name over and over, an anchor against the horror, holding him tight against his chest, rubbing his back, just holding him as the memories spilled forth. It wasn't fitting for a padawan, a young man no longer a boy, to choke back cries in the arms of his master, but the head bent over his didn't rebuke him but encouraged him to feel it and then to release it.

Remembrances of pain and agony had seared into his very mind, pulled from the Force and insinuated within the coils of his heart – and Qui-Gon had allowed his padawan to face the horrors before gently reaching in through the bond and showing Obi-Wan how to release the horrors and shield himself from further intrusion.

Qui-Gon had shown a father's heart and a mentor's guidance for the remainder of that long night and the several that had followed, until his apprentice had found solace and healing in the Force.

_Yes…face them…don't fight them and they lose their power over you. _The words became a litany, a balm against a tormented mind, an anchor in a heaving sea that was swamping him. Gradually, the words reached deep, deep enough to still the screams in an exhausted mind…brought forth tears rather than screams as the mind of a Jedi began to reassume control over the primal brain reflexes of the man.

Reaching into the comfort of memories to combat the pain, he almost felt again the warm circle of arms around him, the soft whisper of his name in that never-forgotten voice, the gentle brush of ghost fingers across his face.

Somewhere in the Force, a ghost cried.


	22. He Suffers Too Who is Left Behind

"My master _is _alive; I will find a way to save him. I promise."

Anakin's certainty had wakened Bant's doubts, but doubt brought with it fear. Fear that Obi-Wan was alive, suffering, and in pain. Fear that she had to work at releasing into the Force so it didn't paralyze her or interfere with her duties, but still fear.

Now after meditating her emotions into some semblance of control, Bant felt a need to share that conversation with her friends; Obi-Wan's friends. Other than a few conversations with Siri, none of them had really spoken of him, not since his funeral service. It had been hard enough to be there, to say goodbye to the memory of their friend as they last remembered him.

As the friends had gathered before the ceremony, Garen had told her his last memory of Obi-Wan had been of Obi-Wan shortly after Geonosis. His wounds were healed, but his mind had been on his padawan and the implications of Geonosis as well as Anakin's loss of his arm and struggle to adjust to it as well as the Jedi adaptation to a war they could not avoid.

She, herself, had last seen Obi-Wan laughing at her as he whispered conspiratorially, "I'm off to help Padawan Terzah – I took pity on him and offered to help unravel the mystery of the Astari treaty. Force knows I'm lucky to be still sane after that mission."

As for Siri, she had said little of her last sight of Obi-Wan, other than that she had confessed that she had a bad feeling about the mission, and that she had received Anakin's promise to protect his master as she had seen them off in the hangar. Of Obi-Wan's reaction she had not spoken, but her hand would drift to her face and her eyes would get lost in some memory each time.

Whatever it was, Obi-Wan's reaction seemed to haunt her.

She knew already, of course, that Siri was not convinced of Obi-Wan's death while Garen resisted the idea that their friend might be alive. Bant could understand that. It was easier to think of Obi-Wan as at peace in the Force than as suffering in life.

Grief: raw, hidden, internal, had kept their communication mainly non-verbal: they did not need to speak of their shared sorrow. Their silence spoke more eloquently than mere words.

Bant could remain silent no longer. Tumultuous emotion, no matter how controlled, demanded an outlet, a hearing, discussion – acceptance or repudiation of Anakin's thoughts and feelings.

It was time to move beyond the grief and pain and find common ground, if not common purpose, if such could be found.

Reeft was absent from the Temple, but for once Garen was actually on a brief layover at the Temple,

Out of consideration for their human physiology, Bant decreased the humidity level and temperature in her quarters so they would be comfortable. Siri was the first to arrive, nodding appreciatively as she stepped inside and almost unconsciously drifted over to the chair that Obi-Wan usually occupied when the friends gathered in those quarters, forsaking her usual choice.

Bant understood; she had found solace there herself when word came of her friend's death. It was such little unconscious gestures that told Bant the strength of her belief that Obi-Wan was alive, for Siri Tachi was never one to linger over or indulge emotions.

Bant had never doubted his death once. Now that belief had crumbled.

Garen arrived not long after, absently accepting the offer of a hot drink as he stepped inside. From his sidelong look at Siri, he, too, had noticed her choice of seat.

"Hi you two," he greeted each with a hug, uncannily reminiscent of the three of them taking strength from each other when they'd gathered before attending Obi-Wan's funeral, arriving and leaving together, united in grief. They had cried their tears here, behind doors, before donning their Jedi stoicism and solemn masks for the memorial service.

He lazily settled into a seat, long legs splayed out before him and smiled inquiringly.

"Anakin comm'd me from Jabiim and he's convinced me that Obi-Wan is alive," Bant said bluntly, once Garen and Siri were settled. "Alive, but suffering terribly."

Garen stiffened and looked searchingly at Bant, struggling, it was apparent, between hope and fear that it was false hope. Eyes suddenly grave, he was troubled by the possibility that his friend was alive and in pain, yet not willing to concede that Obi-Wan's padawan might be correct. Siri's reaction was far less visible. Other than a slight stiffening of her posture, she said little.

Very carefully, Garen set his mug down and leaned forward. "Bant – c'mon, you know there's no way…."

"Obi-Wan always trusted Anakin's feelings," Bant insisted, interrupting him. "He didn't always trust Anakin's responses to them, but he always trusted them. He told me that. You know that, you know how often he said that."

Garen nodded in silent agreement. Few had Anakin Skywalker's connection to the Force.

Without embellishment, Bant related Anakin's call and his inner anguish – the conclusions he had come to and why – and why his belief was becoming her own. Siri was white-faced, but composed, nodding slightly as Bant spoke of Anakin's reasoning that because the bond was only inactive, it still existed, while Garen restlessly rose to his feet with a grim expression on his face.

"So what do we do?" Garen demanded, pacing like a caged rancor. Force, if they were right, if Anakin was right – oh, gods, Obi-Wan. His jaw tightened as he fought to restrain this sudden feeling of pure helplessness.

"Wait," Siri said simply, suddenly speaking up. The two friends stared at her; Garen even stopped pacing. Her words surprised both of them. Siri was the one to jump into action, usually with Garen not far behind. Of all the friends, Bant was the most cautious.

"There's nothing any of us can do right now, except wait, and trust in both Obi-Wan to survive long enough for Anakin to rescue him, and for Anakin to locate and rescue him."

"Wait?" Bant asked incredulously.

"What else can we do? We don't know where he is; there's nothing we can do for him at this time, except look to the Force for answers." Quiet as her words were, Bant heard the pain underneath them, and impulsively hugged her.

* * *

The next morning as pre-arranged, Garen and Siri met for a sparring match. The conversation of the day before weighed heavily on the Jedi master; the quiet certainty of the others was affecting him, he had had to admit. Freshly troubled, he expected Siri to all but wipe the floor with him.

The last sparring he had done was not long before Geonosis, and Obi-Wan had consistently scored a "kill point" within minutes of each match. When Anakin had shown up, Garen was relieved to step aside and observe the master and padawan sparring. Their contest went far longer than Garen would have thought possible, the outcome always seeming in doubt as first one than the other gained a temporary advantage.

Anakin had the reach and the power, but not the experience and skill, and ultimately Obi-Wan had disarmed Anakin with a brief display of Ataru once the padawan's brashness had left an opening for the master to exploit.

"Don't worry, Padawan, you'll beat me someday," Obi-Wan had clapped his padawan on the shoulder, turning away before he could see the look that had flashed through the blue eyes. Even now, Garen wasn't sure he had seen it, or what it had meant. He thought, "I should have won; I'm more powerful than you," had been muttered, but he wasn't sure.

"Power isn't everything, my _young_ padawan," Obi-Wan had returned, his eyes twinkling as he had looked at Garen with a smirk, so at least Garen knew that the young man had indeed muttered something about power.

It hadn't bothered the master, though, so it must have been part of the usual banter between them. Certainly Anakin had grinned at the response, and mocked back, "Yes, so you keep telling me, my _old_ master."

Garen was a good swordsman, but not a great one. He rarely beat Obi-Wan or Siri, for they were the two best swordsmen of their age groups. Sparring with either sharpened his skills, and that was the point. As a pilot, Garen saw far less physical combat than his fellow Jedi, and he needed to brush up and refresh his technique whenever he had the chance. Pilots could be and often were shot down. If they were lucky, they survived. If they were doubly lucky, they were rescued before having to defend themselves with their lightsabers.

To his surprise, the match was far more even than he expected. From the opening move, neither one gained a quick advantage. He had reach and power, Siri speed and agility as well as a tight focus that never failed her. Today her attacks were uneven, her movements almost uncertain. Garen succeeded in scorching Siri's tunic a time or two, and the match went longer than he expected.

An unexpected combination move threw off his balance as he tried to counter each one, and he landed heavily on his back with Siri's saber reaching for his throat. To his surprise, she didn't evade his risky grab and leg kick and he easily flipped her over his head. After rolling to his feet, he stood above her, pressing his saber to her throat instead. He was so shocked that he stood staring at her, panting heavily.

"Stop looking so surprised and give me a hand up, won't you?" Instead of grumbling at her defeat, she sounded almost resigned. Once she stood, she shook her head and managed to grin at him.

"All right, Siri, what's up? I almost never beat you. Your focus was, frankly, atrocious, by your standards," Garen demanded, wiping the sweat from his brow. Siri looked at him, then away from him. He waited, knowing she would answer when she was ready. Finally, she sighed and looked at him, her shoulders slumping. She spoke so softly he almost missed the name that spilled from her lips.

"Obi-Wan."

"Obi-Wan?"

"Obi-Wan! What Anakin said…what if he's right? Not just alive, but treated terribly, hurt and in pain? I know Obi-Wan is alive, but to think he needs us... It's been so long – and Force, how it hurts, thinking of him suffering all this time as we do nothing!"

This couldn't be the knight who strode through life, untouched by events around her. Siri would never admit to weakness, yet here she was admitting a weakness born of knowledge of another's suffering. Raw pain shone in her eyes, quickly shuttered away as she again averted her eyes, vulnerable, but yet not willing to expose it further.

Garen sheathed his lightsaber and placed both hands on Siri's shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I wish Obi-Wan were alive with all my heart, Siri. You know I do; he's my best friend. But it's wishful thinking on Anakin's part; yours, too. We know Obi-Wan was at the explosion; we know the survivors were accounted for, and we know far too many were too, ah – ," Force, it hurt to think about, let alone admit, "Force, there was nothing left to identify."

"I really do think – no, I know - that Anakin is right, he's alive and – needs our help," she said simply. Garen merely shook his head in denial.

"Siri." He touched her arm, expecting her to shake him off. He didn't know if he wanted her to convince him that Obi-Wan was alive, or if he needed to convince her that he wasn't. Either thought made his heart ache.

"I – we – there's an old friendship bond between us." Her voice was low, slightly colored with defiance and embarrassment that revealed much. "I had a bad feeling all along, even before he left. I wanted to tell him to stay. Something told me he was going to be hurt, and I – I think I would know if he were dead. Same as Anakin."

So…Garen had always wondered if there was some hidden emotion between the two, some bond that exceeded mere friendship. They had been fierce rivals as padawans, grudging friends that became real friends; then suddenly they had become awkward around each other. With the passage of the years, the two had relaxed into an easy friendship, full of bickering and teasing.

Siri had been unusually prickly and Obi-Wan uncharacteristically silent and withdrawn after that mission where their ship had nearly self-destructed, security-wired to explode on reversion out of hyperspace. Bant had even remarked on it, and pointed out Qui-Gon's close monitoring of his padawan for a while, as if even he were puzzled by the change and uncertain whether to deal with it or not, perhaps not even knowing how best to proceed.

In hindsight, so much was blindingly obvious.

"A bond of friendship can be very strong," was all he said, but let his eyes convey what his words would not. Any feelings held private would be respected and unacknowledged, but Garen knew that Siri was aware of his newfound knowledge and grateful for his tact.

So many more things made sense now. He understood now why she had come to him years ago, before leaving on her undercover mission. Siri had put Obi-Wan behind her a number of months prior and she was leaving the Jedi for a protracted period. Foreseeing unpleasant possibilities ahead in her role, let alone the probability of death if she were discovered, she had sought what she thought might be comfort with a friend.

He had been willing, more than willing, even knowing somehow it was not really he in particular that she wanted, just someone, a friend. It hadn't mattered. She had been honest and upfront with him, other than keeping quiet about leaving within a few weeks. Her staged departure as well as her "fight" with her Master that led to her "renouncing" the Jedi had totally shocked him, as well as most of their age mates.

So shocking had her action been, that their age mates couldn't refrain from quiet speculation. Obi-Wan had said nothing when word spread, but he was about the only one to keep his thoughts to himself. Having left the Order himself, at thirteen for those brief weeks and suffering the resulting shame and humiliation of almost not being accepted back, they had all thought he felt he had no right to comment on the commitment of others.

Garen didn't feel guilt, for Siri and Obi-Wan were barely on speaking terms at the time. He had nothing to feel guilty about – yet, still, he wondered uncomfortably if Obi-Wan had known. Probably not – no, Obi-Wan had never been interested in hearing about his friend's youthful flings, but still, it did make Garen squirm a bit inside.

Siri seemed not to notice anything amiss, focused entirely now on refastening her lightsaber to her belt.

"Like Anakin, I think I'd know if he were dead. But if he's not – that's worse. Knowing he needs us, but knowing we can do nothing to help him... I hope – in a way I hope he is dead. I can't bear to think of him suffering, in pain, alone. I'd rather he was safe in the Force, and the only pain is that within us."

Garen could only begin to imagine what Anakin and Siri were feeling to cause them to speak their fears. Bant, too, now. They thought Obi-Wan was not just alive, but alive and suffering, badly mistreated. He knew just how severe their pain was when Siri met his eyes; the words she spoke caused his blood to freeze.

In a voice tight with pain, she whispered, "I hope…I really hope - he's dead."


	23. He Who Can Still Weep is Not Lost

In a solitary cell a solitary man struggled to retain all that was important to him while a mind cruelly twisted by what had once been his greatest ally waged war with his heart. 

Even if the throat gave occasional voice to cries of anger and hate, the heart gave voice to the opposite in a language less vocal: tears.

Inside one man, one Jedi, Darkness battled Light: incandescent flames of hate and rage flared and sputtered into existence and were just as steadily extinguished – by soft tears, the only external sign of the titanic internal struggle.

Slow tears trickled from under closed eyelids and traced their way down slick fabric and dripped onto pain-curled toes, leaving in their wake a glistening sheen, wet streaks that caught the light on a mask designed to swallow all such traces, a river of light against unrelieved black.

Tears of a Jedi: tears a sign of a battle not yet lost, for tears could not exist in the absence of Light, could not exist in the presence of pure Darkness. Though the Jedi knew it not, he was the battlefield between what he truly was and what he was meant to believe he was: the prize, his very soul.

The light still burned within that heart, mind and soul; it was what allowed the shadows in his mind, for shadows did not exist where darkness reigned supreme.

_Fight for what you know, Obi-Wan, fight with your heart, not just your mind – I know you have the means to defeat it_, a whisper entreated through the Force, unheard by the one it was directed to. _Free your heart – it is your strength, it holds the secret. _

It was not a sound, even so, just a ghost's hopes and prayers for one dear to his heart, and one out of touch: the barriers between _life _and _death_ were not thin enough to penetrate.

The Force was not ready to welcome Obi-Wan Kenobi home.

Not yet.

* * *

"What kind of mood is she in today?" The tone was furtive and low, but Alpha heard.

"What kind of mood is she ever in?" It might have been a joke, but there was no hint of laughter in the reply. Both guards shivered. "Best to just stay out of her way for now."

Even to someone as unimaginative as a clone, tension rippled and swirled around his jailors. The guards spoke in hushed tones, they flinched at unexpected noises.

It wasn't difficult to assume that Kenobi was more than likely the cause. Somehow, the Jedi was still fighting back, resisting with all his considerable strength. Somehow - despite what Ventress did to him - for Alpha knew from what little snippets of conversation the jailers said within his hearing that Kenobi had been facing far more and even worse tortures than he himself.

Ventress was using some kind of a Sith torture device on his general. The physical abuse they both had already undergone was terrible enough, but from what he overheard, this device apparently worked on several levels, inflicting pain both mental and physical – possibly driving its victim to insanity if used long enough.

Knowing a Jedi's capabilities, the idea of an insane Jedi was deeply disturbing – even more so if that Jedi was Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The ARC Trooper was the first to admit he knew nothing about the Force other than what he had seen of it in action, but he respected what a skilled user could do with its assistance, or was it what the Force itself did with a skilled user? Alpha still wasn't sure; he thought it was a little of both.

Reportedly this device – some kind of mask – twisted the Force within the wearer until the victim no longer knew right from wrong, pain from pleasure, or sanity from insanity. It was supposed to break Kenobi.

Apparently, it hadn't succeeded. Not yet.

Not if Ventress was steadily growing ever more unhappy; her guards ever more on edge.

But it did appear, however slowly, to be having an effect on the Jedi, if one believed the hopeful whispers.

This mask had initially thrown his general into some kind of catatonic shock, one that had apparently lasted for a number of hours, Alpha gathered, though as time passed the Jedi had apparently come to somewhat: he twitched and shuddered, and his near silent screams had unnerved the guards. His eyes, though, were reported to be the worst – blank eyes, staring eyes, the eyes of one dead even if the body itself was still alive.

Exaggerated reports, if true. If the Jedi had slipped beyond her reach, Ventress had no reason to keep Alpha alive, not if Kenobi had died or been driven insane. Alpha had to believe this wasn't so.

No, Kenobi was fighting back; he was positive, deep within his mind. Until he lost the battle, he still had every chance of winning. Somehow, his general would find a way to defeat the mask – Alpha just hoped that the Jedi would retain enough of his sanity to enjoy victory when it came.

The guards' uneasiness continued to mount.

"The Jedi" was breaking, but far too slowly. "The Jedi" resisted far longer than expected. "The Jedi" was driving Ventress to her own insanity – her rage at Kenobi was also directed at Aidus and at her own guards. Ventress had come close to killing "that Jedi," in the mistaken belief that pain – outer and inner combined – would topple the man over the edge, but instead had only toppled him into unconsciousness, more than once.

In that state, he was immune to the mask, for the mask was powered by thought and by emotions.

Then the speculative and covert looks began, lips were sealed in his presence. Alpha suspected a plan might be taking shape and hoped he was wrong. If he was right….

It would never work. Not against a Jedi. Not against General Kenobi. Ordinarily. But if the mask truly twisted a Jedi's mind – Alpha truly hoped to be wrong.

He soon found out his suspicions were correct. He would be the weapon used to destroy Kenobi once and for all.

* * *

Stubborn determination made the Jedi master fight through the hate, the anger, the despair – the fear of falling to the dark. He would find a way – a way to live, a way to the Force – _his_ Force, a way out of this.

Asajj Ventress wanted to break him. But Obi-Wan Kenobi would not be broken. He refused to.

Yet resistance was only dragging him deeper – the more he fought, the more the mask twisted back at him – the pain excruciating and the fear of falling intensifying even as his grasp on the Light tightened.

"Kenobi, you just make it worse by not accepting your fate." A finger lifted a chin, heedless of the tickle of blood spilling from a corner of the mouth. "It's your fault you are in so much pain. It's your own stubbornness that makes me take such drastic steps to put you in touch with your dark side."

"Better to die…my soul my own – than live…in darkness."

"Enough, Kenobi! You will submit to me so that I can assume the place I am meant to be, at my master's side."

"I – will – not – submit." Obi-Wan screwed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. He had fought his way past the demons inhabiting his mind – a temporary victory only, he knew – only to find Ventress ready to inflict some external "stimulation" – her words – to the internal.

"You will break, Kenobi!" Ventress backhanded Obi-Wan across the face just as a guard entered with a bowlful of water for the prisoner; a guard whose eyes widened in horror as he realized his schedule coincided with Ventress's appearance in the same place at the same time.

"Get out! Leave us!" Ventress screamed.

Blinking tears from blurry eyes, Obi-Wan barely saw a guard hit the floor and slide into the wall with a loud crack. Despite himself, he winced. The guard apparently had not broken his head or neck, for, white-faced, he scrambled to his feet and disappeared.

"Positive reinforcement…works…much better," he muttered.

When Ventress spoke again, her voice was cold and controlled, no longer the high-pitched near shriek.

"You have one last chance, Obi-Wan. What will you feel when you know that for every day and every minute you resist me; you will be responsible for another man's suffering? Your precious clone's fate rests in your hands, now, Obi-Wan. You alone will have the power to make what remains of his life painful, or pain free. You shall have the chance to hate me and save him, or hate yourself and save him, or refuse to hate and doom him to cursing your name as he dies. We will see – who will you hate and why?"

"Jedi – don't hate." Obi-Wan gathered his voice with difficulty. "I am…a Jedi."

"So be it, Jedi," Ventress hissed. "Compassion dooms your clone to a long and painful death; only your hatred and anger can free him to a quick and painless death."

* * *

The guards spoke in even more hushed tones if they spoke at all; they flinched at unexpected noises.

When they brought food or water, they rushed as if the demons of hell were nipping at their heels, stuffing food in Alpha's mouth faster than he could chew and swallow, gourds of water held to his lips in distracted hands so that more trickled down his chin than into his mouth.

Even Aidus, now his primary torturer, was on edge, and apprehension and fear permeated the atmosphere.

Ventress's rage continued to grow, apparent from the increasingly wary whispers and shifting eyes of the guards. They tried even harder to evade her notice, peeking through the open cell door to make sure the exit was clear before they would hurry away, one eye always seemingly looking over their shoulders, afraid to bring wrath down upon their own heads.

Now, just minutes before, a guard had come in, white-faced, to whisper to Aidus that Ventress had told him to get the clone ready.

Alpha stiffened involuntarily – was he now to die? Had Kenobi finally broken, or had he died at Ventress's hand?

No, Kenobi had to be alive; otherwise they wouldn't _ready_ him for death – she would just slice his head off his shoulders or stab him through the heart.

Ready, then to use as a weapon against Kenobi as he had suspected? It wouldn't work. Both men knew the information they guarded was too important; releasing the information was no guarantee that Ventress would refrain from further torture, or their outright murder – and how many troops and healers would be at risk if the medical facility base location became known?

How many troops – how many battles – would be lost if the re-supply points were yielded to her?

He knew, and the general knew, that silence was necessary, no matter the personal cost.

From what little he could overhear as the guard continued to speak to Aidus, Ventress had unleashed her fury and frustrations on Kenobi without getting the results she wanted, which explained why Alpha had been left to the tender mercies of Aidus alone. Just as Aidus would have no mercy at Alpha's hands, Ventress would not either. There was no doubt they were The Enemy and the cause of his and his commander's suffering.

Ventress swept in some time later, her skirt hem sodden and trailing red streaks in its wake. The fabric was heavy with Kenobi's blood and smelling faintly of sour vomit. Her eyes glittered strangely and the skin stretched taut over her face: a bizarre human caricature; a skull encased in a plaster cast. Even Aidus warily watched her, hand poised in mid-air.

"You. Clone. I can make use of you. Finally your life has some purpose."

"I am, I won't, and no, I won't," Alpha recited. Really, how many times was he expected to repeat: I'm Advanced Recon Commando A-17 under the command of General Kenobi and not authorized to release information regarding the location of the Republic foundries or medical facilities?

Ventress didn't even blink, only stared at him. Her eyes were sharper than her vibroblade and equally capable of sending shivers up even his spine. The ice in her tone seemed more deadly than the heated passion of the past; flames of passion had burned out but ice took forever to melt.

"Obi-Wan has tested my patience to the breaking point. I've hurt him and I've poisoned him, but somehow he withstands me, somehow he does not yield. He is very - resistant – to my persuasions. Stubborn, stubborn man. He is breaking, but not fast enough for me. I am not a patient woman. As much as it would pain me not to have him crawl at my feet, I am sorely tempted to send him into that Force he clings to like a security blanket even with it all but absent from him."

Absent? Was it possible to even take the Force from a Jedi? The way he had heard it explained, it was an energy field, generated by life, and as such should not be able to be "taken."

Perhaps, like sight, hearing, or the other senses, the ability to use it was interrupted and interfered with. Using the Force was like breathing to a Force user, and Alpha knew if Ventress's words were true, it was no wonder that his general was reported to be in some kind of shock.

He hid his disquiet behind one simple truth.

"The general doesn't fear death, nor do I."

Ventress's eyes narrowed and she spat, "Indeed, so I have found; I'm sure he would now welcome it." She suddenly laughed; the sound harsh and grating, almost painful to the ears.

"Yes, clone, you're right. I have dangled him near the edge, of either death or madness, thinking how desperately he would wish to escape into the oblivion of the Force; oh, how I looked forward to denying him his dearest desire. To hear him beg and plead…his life, just as his death, in my hands…." She squeezed her hands slowly shut, lost in pleasurable thoughts.

"I almost killed him once already…," she looked up sharply, her eyes boring into Alpha's, "but that was of my doing, not his own desire. He refuses to beg, he refuses to fall, so I have another plan. You'll assist me."

"How so?" Alpha was openly contemptuous.

"His deepest weakness is his compassion. He once thought to pity me, to try to save me from darkness and turn me to his pitiful light. Yet anger and hate now crawl within him, and thus his fear of what he is becoming. Like some poisons hurt more than others and some take longer than others, the mask he wears now is a way of poisoning a Jedi's mind. It can cause psychotic episodes and it can make the victim behave in ways that would otherwise be abhorrent to him.

"He is already well down the dark path – but not far enough and not fast enough for me. His fear and his hate, his anger, have not yet consumed his heart, though it will, the mask will see to that. No Jedi can resist it. I shall return you to Kenobi's side, where he can watch your suffering as he remains relatively untouched. His heart might still scream in outrage, but his mind will take delight in your suffering. Such a conflict your presence shall bring to him – and it will break him, finally."

"General Kenobi will resist you with every ounce of his being."

"Of course he will, and the more he struggles, the deeper he'll get ensnared. He shall try to take your pain upon himself, but the mask will interfere. His compassion will be his undoing – and ultimately, your death. His won't come until much later, but it will come. Kenobi will break; Kenobi will, I promise you, die."

* * *

…. something gripped the back of his head and yanked it upright; long unused muscles screaming an unheeded protest, just one more pain amongst many. Without the Force, there was no premonition of approaching evil, no warning, nothing to give him a chance to try and prepare himself to battle without as he already did within himself.

Obi-Wan's muscles involuntarily tensed for yet another round of pain. Instead he heard dragging footsteps, harsh breathing, the clank of manacles, but no glint of a vibroblade teasing his jugular vein, no hum of a lightsaber caressing his skin, and no jabs of pain. He heard, but he didn't register the sounds at first, for sounds without feeling were beyond his caring.

Sensing no external threat to pull him from his internal struggles, he began to retreat back into the fight for his soul.

"General!" A hissed sound…calling him; he knew that voice. He blinked through heavy eyelids, called back to a world of outside stimuli. Outlined against a brighter light, it was hard to see details – the voice, focus on the voice.

The person, another prisoner, was being prodded into the cell, roughly thrust forward.

_Thunk_! The captive hit the ground hard; hands chained behind his back he was unable to break his fall.

"General!' The shocked exclamation brought his head slowly down to the figure at his feet, his eyes trying with difficulty to focus.

"Alpha?" he croaked, for the screams torn from his throat moments ago, perhaps a lifetime ago, had left it dry and inflamed. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he remembered how to smile but he tried anyway, the mask stiff and unyielding and forcing his lips into more of a grimace than grin, the almost forgotten gesture stretching cracked lips.

"Sir, you don't look so good."

"I don't – feel…so good."

He blinked again in sudden comprehension, fully back to this reality and now understanding why Alpha was on his knees, looking up at him with concern in his eyes.

"Alpha?" he tried again, a hint of a smile once more twisting his mouth. Alpha was alive.

His mind understood now what unfocused eyes had seen: a chained Alpha had been dragged in and thrown to the cell floor, nearly at Obi-Wan's feet. He had landed heavily, on his knees as his chest smacked into the hard surface; with arms bound behind his back he had unable to prevent the hard fall or the small "oomph" of escaping air.

"General, what have they done to you?"

"I might… ask you the same," he muttered, hoarsely. Alpha's body was marked with bruises and cuts, but his eyes still shone as they looked upon his commander. He, too, was naked, but his body was still somewhat muscular while the Jedi's was emancipated and his bones far too prominent.

A yank on an arm hauled Alpha roughly to his feet; his body splashed with the red ocher of Obi-Wan's spilled blood. The sight would have shocked Obi-Wan silent, if he was not already. No wonder he was weak and dizzy.

Before the faint light faded behind weary eyelids, Obi-Wan's eyes wandered down to see the tracks painted on his own skin, to see his blood pooled below him, rust red and brown. Even as he watched, in shock, fresh droplets splashed and spattered in a slow and unsteady dance, an eternal circle of red within the brown puddle. _Oh dear_, _not good_.

His eyes widened. No wonder Alpha had stared at him, sounded so alarmed. The sight scared him, too.

"Kenobi, you can tell your clone what I've done to you – and clone, you tell Obi-Wan what he'll have to watch being done to you – and how he can stop it. His choice. Enjoy your little reunion," Ventress drawled as Aidus and another guard shoved Alpha near his general.

Both men remained silent and it wasn't until they were left alone that either spoke.

* * *

"You do really look terrible, general." He had looked almost more dead than alive, Alpha thought, the way his eyes had seemed not to focus and his mind to wander. The Jedi hadn't even been aware of the opening door. He could imagine, all too clearly the sounds – equally as heartrending as the very real sight before him - of sounds wrung from the Jedi: mere gasps, screams that masqueraded as croaks, tortured breathing that even now hinted of bruised or broken ribs or internal organ damage.

The calm eyes that saw all and shrank from nothing were now all but invisible behind thick lashes that themselves seemed to droop with pain.

Yet it seemed that even in his pain-filled haze, he was gathering strength to him, fighting past the weakness of a captive to the still-considerable strength of a Jedi.

Alpha wondered what those pain-filled eyes saw when they looked at him – no hint of Kenobi's thoughts surfaced as the lids parted and the Jedi looked directly at him, the gaze now focused and aware.

"Your keen powers of observation have not dulled with their treatment of you. I feel terrible, too." But his eyes danced, just a bit, at the opportunity to engage in small talk, to find a hint of humor in the circumstances.

"We've been captive for several months now by my reckoning. I don't understand why they don't kill us, or bargain us."

"Jedi don't bargain lives, Alpha," Obi-Wan said wearily.

"What do they want? They told me my presence is somehow supposed to break you – but why, general? She has to know neither of us will ever speak. Does Ventress just enjoy watching suffering? What does she hope to gain?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Ventress had gotten something from him, whether he wished it or not, with or without his consent. It burned through him during his weakest moments. So far it had not consumed him; he was able to quench the fire, but it was getting harder and harder to fight free. His hatred, his anger were slowly overwhelming his desire to resist such dark emotions. Should they gain dominion over him – he would be lost to darkness.

If he wasn't strong enough, resolved enough, successful enough, it would be the first step onto a path he didn't want to tread, a path that would lead him to where he had no wish to be, to be what he could not bear to be. A path with no return route, once one truly started the journey.

A hate he fought constantly. Each time she came, the hate flared. Each time she left, he fought it until it was vanquished. Each time he was weaker; each time the hate flared hotter and quicker.

"Me. My hate…my anger - she wants to break me as a present for her Sith master. So far … so far, I've been able to fight it off, but - I'm slowly cracking, Alpha and I'm afraid of what will happen – what I'll be – when she succeeds."

"You won't crack, General."

The simple assurance was soothing, but it was not accurate.

"Anyone …can crack if enough pressure is applied for long enough. This hood – twists the Force. Any attempt to access it – is unpleasant…," he suddenly shivered, and Alpha understood from the simple gesture it was pure agony.

"I am extremely vulnerable without it. Force help me – I – do – hate her, much of the time – for showing me what I can – what I can be." He spit out the word as he had wished to spit out the maggots, poisoned with surprise, despair and self-loathing. Poison, only this poison was of his mind and soul. Even if it was forced upon him, it was of him, and if it were to consume him….

…_there were times he'd willingly fling himself on her and strangle the life from her, snap her neck with one finger and the Force at his fingertips, reach into her chest and stop her heart from beating…and at such times, he would willingly turn on himself so he wouldn't turn on her…_

He broke free from the dream of revenge with difficulty. It seemed an impossible task to break the mask's hold over him; it gained strength as he resisted. The price of failure was – eternal darkness – so he fought it with everything left within him.

When dreams of revenge were vanquished, shame and fear crept in: he had let the mask control him.

_I hate – what I am becoming_….

"Alpha, I want you to promise…," he licked dry lips, "if I fall, if I'm twisted to darkness that you'll…you'll stop me by whatever means is necessary - that you'll find some way to kill me or make her kill me. Don't let me fall, Alpha – don't let me fall."

He asked a lot, he knew. Alpha would probably lose his own life in the taking of Obi-Wan's, if it came to that. He had no right to ask, none. Not for himself.

Visions of the dead rose in his mind. The innocent who suffered: the children, the civilians, the soldiers doing their duty. Blood, blood always spilled; eyes, vacant eyes stared…fear, pain, suffering…a dark Jedi could inflict so much more. The part of him that would always be Obi-Wan would live in eternal shame and anguish that he could stoop so low, commit such evil, were he to fall…for a Jedi who hated was no Jedi at all.

"Promise?" His hoarse whisper was a desperate plea, that if he died, it would be in the dark of his cell, not in the dark of his soul.

"I promise, General," a reply finally came out of the dark.


	24. Last Stand on Jabiim

On Jabiim, morale was holding steady, but the incessant rain was wearying on Jedi and Clonetroopers alike. Jabiim had been a disaster in the making for a long while now, but the Republic forces battled on. Mired in mud, out maneuvered, losses steadily mounting, the Republic was holding on. They would not retreat; they would not surrender.

First General Kenobi had fallen, then General Norcuna some weeks later. The Jabiimi rebels, attuned to the wet and soggy ground held tactical advantage over the superior Republic forces. Nearly every day saw casualties in the hundreds, if not thousands.

One day, the last surviving Jedi above the rank of padawan fell with the death of General Leska. A brief break in the weather, a beam of light from a sun more a rumor than a thing of fact, drew Leska's attention upwards to that shining orb –and in that moment, the enemy struck her down. General Leska, the last Jedi general on Jabiim, fell in the steaming mud: a smile on her lips and her sightless eyes staring into the long absent light now fading back within clouds, soon to be hidden once more.

Anakin Skywalker was now in command, the ranking padawan of those Jedi still alive; Jedi fighting a battle they would not win, fighting to the very end.

Yet the battle continued, with victories and defeats alike, as the death toll mounted on both sides. Atmospheric conditions meant no supplies could get to the Republic forces, but it also meant that the Jabiimi forces had no access to Separatist supplies either.

A temporary break in the weather spelled disaster: Separatist reinforcements were poised to take advantage of the break. The Republic wasn't. Jabiim's fate was sealed; the Republic would withdraw – the next break in the weather. Quickly outnumbered, the scattered Jedi padawans and troops at Cobalt Station were the last bastion protecting the bulk of the Republic forces awaiting evacuation at what was nicknamed "Monsoon Mesa."

This doomed group decided to slow the advancing Separatist army; they would fight to their deaths to protect the rest of their troops with their last breath. It would be the last stand on Jabiim.

Duty and determination drove these masters-less padawans. They lived as Jedi, and they would die as Jedi. There was no hesitation and no doubt. They prepared, and then they waited for their last few hours or days of life.

Leaning against a wall, grabbing a few minutes to relax before the battle ahead of him, Anakin Skywalker allowed himself to think of his wife and of his master, both of whom would out live him. For that he was exceedingly grateful, though his master's ultimate fate was yet to be determined.

He was lost in thoughts of Padmé, of what little time together they had had, of the lives they had hoped to have in the future, when word came: assemble; it is time to make a stand. His final thoughts, before he turned his focus entirely to the fight ahead, was of his master – here where he had been lost, here where he perhaps remained forever, here where fire had claimed him and water had washed all traces of him away – if one believed the obvious and ignored the whispers of the Force.

"I'm sorry, Master," Anakin cast his regrets into the Force. "I am forced to either abandon you or my fellows. Here I am, here I will stay, and here I will die. Forgive me."

He was halfway out the door, partway to his death, when he was halted by word that there was an incoming message for him. A personal message, from Chancellor Palpatine himself with a request that he could not obey; he could not ignore.

"Anakin, I need you to oversee the evacuation of troops at Monsoon Mesa. I fear chaos without your firm hand there. You have never let me down when I need you. I need you, the Republic needs you." The static in the transmission only added urgency to the Chancellor's request.

"They'll die without me." He hadn't realized he had spoken.

"They'll die and you with them, if you stay. I am sorry, my boy, but I need you, the Republic needs you – so many more will live than die, if you do as I ask. I beg of you – save those whom you can."

_I am born to save others. _Anakin shook his head in denial, fighting against the choice he knew he had to make; then he felt a hand on his arm and turned. It was one of his companions, Aubrie, with the other padawans standing firm beside her.

"We will die with or without you, Anakin Skywalker. Save them; they have a chance."

Anakin bowed his head, not daring to look either at his friends or the figure of the Chancellor, torn between two great needs. It was a decision he could not make, yet one he had to make. There were no options. He had to let certain beings die in order to save others – how could he make that choice? How could he abandon any of them?

Any choice he made condemned someone, and with any choice he made, he damned himself.

"I – I can't leave you to die," he whispered, and wondered to whom he was speaking. His heart was encased in ice and the screams of those not yet dead beat in his ears. It wasn't fair!

How could he be asked who to sacrifice? It shouldn't be his choice; it couldn't be his choice!

Perhaps someone like his master could make such a decision and not shatter under its weight, but he could not. Obi-Wan Kenobi might be able to hold his head high after deciding who would live and who would die – perhaps such a man as he could sleep at night without nightmares tormenting him – but Anakin Skywalker was not such a man.

Tormented eyes met pitying eyes. The Chancellor bowed his head, acknowledging the pain in the young Jedi's eyes, his own voice suddenly husky, and Anakin knew how deeply torn the man himself was – but he was Chancellor for a reason. He had to make the hard choices, and that included asking his young friend to make one of his own.

"I trust you, Anakin, to save our troops. You have never failed me or the Republic. I do not ask this lightly."

_I need you, our forces need you, and you have never let us down._ Palpatine's plea could not be ignored. Anakin would do anything for the man who had befriended him, believed in him, and now needed him. Even so, he hesitated: he could not leave his friends, his companions, his fellow Jedi, until those near him persuaded him it was the right thing to do.

Aubrie's fingers brushed his hand. "You aren't leaving us…we merely follow different paths – our choice, Anakin. Save them; they have a chance to be saved. We are already dead – we just don't know it, yet."

Anakin searched her eyes, those of the other padawans. Each one of them was encouraging him, telling him to go, save those he could.

_Save them_; and that was what he was born to do. Save others.

With a strangled sob that no one heard, Anakin Skywalker bowed to orders.

"May the Force be with you," he offered, never meaning it more, as he left for Monsoon Mesa, his heart heavy, hoping those he left behind would slow the advancing army long enough for the Republic evacuation ships to arrive, find a break in the weather, and save the troops entrusted to his care.

The cost was even higher than he anticipated: he had to leave behind the Loyalist troops. Part of the fleet had been damaged or destroyed in the atmosphere, only half the ships made it to the planet. There weren't enough evacuation ships for all; there would be no second chance, no second wave of evacuation.

Hating every word he spoke, truth or not, Anakin bluntly told the Loyalist leader, Captain Gillmunn, that as spread out as the war was, the Republic needed every trooper on the front lines and their evacuation was first and foremost the one that would be carried out. _If_, and he hated that word, _if_ there was room – _if_ they could –the Jabiimi troops would leave with the Republic forces and avoid certain slaughter at the hands of the rebels.

The surge of Gillmunn's anger and feelings of betrayal in the Force nearly suffocated the young Jedi as he cried, "Stratus was right; we risked it all for you and you abandon us to die at his hands – on a planet that is our home, but no more, for you have destroyed it."

He took a step forward, his hands clenched at his side. Tension ratcheted; clones stiffened to attention where they waited to board. Jabiimi loyalists fingers tightened on blaster grips.

"You shall take us; if you deny us, we will commandeer your ships and you shall be the ones left behind." Gillmunn raised his weapon. The muzzle was not yet pointing directly at any one person, but the threat was clear.

"Stand down," Anakin ordered harshly, and to his ever-lasting horror, his hand rose as if to clench the captain's throat – and the man began to strangle from an invisible chokehold. Shock made the young Jedi stumble backwards and release his grip, murmuring his apologies as he fled into the ship, leaving his clone troops to guard their own loading.

Anakin leaned into a corner in a little used ship cabin, to stand in solitude begging forgiveness from the Force – for deserting his friends, for abandoning his allies, and for nearly killing a man when lesser means would have sufficed.

_It is not possible to save everyone, even Jedi have not that power. The best we can hope for is to save those whom it is in our power to save, and trust in the Force for the rest. Had we the power, we would be as gods, and I have no wish to be a god, only a good man. We are gifted with great power and great responsibility; it is our duty to use the Force wisely, compassionately and justly to help those in need, not to control or command others._

Anakin snarled with the memory of his master's words, his hand on his shoulder as a much younger Anakin accused his master of allowing injustice by choosing not to get involved in some situation not involving them.

"_This issue is not ours to mediate; each party is more than capable of fighting its own battle," Obi-Wan had warned him. "It is easy to interfere, and the more one does, the easier it becomes to wish to control. Controlling others is treading near the dark side; most Jedi even try to avoid any kind of mind-control whenever possible. We do as the Force commands us, not our hearts and minds." _

For the duration of the two-day trip to New Holstice, the Republic medical facility, Anakin stayed in his quarters, trying to banish the fear and shame weighing upon his scarred soul. He had never felt so in need of his master's presence, if not his guidance, but he was alone: a Jedi and his fears; a Jedi who had once given into rage and slaughtered indiscriminately those who dared harm his mother.

He would have just as gladly slaughtered Count Dooku for all the Jedi killed at Geonosis, for the threat to both his master's life and Padme's life in that same arena, and for the almost certain death of his master at Dooku's hand as he lay injured with open eyes watching Dooku's blade descend to take his life.

All healthy Jedi, from all arriving ships, were pressed into service upon arrival, to help the overwhelmed healers. The sheer number of wounded was overwhelming. Anakin was able to escape the turmoil of his emotions in hard work as he awaited orders. He was too exhausted even to dream.

Orders finally came: Anakin Skywalker was ordered back to the Temple for reassignment.

Before he left, that final night he visited the planet's memorial to fallen Jedi, all those killed since the birth of the Republic. A towering cylinder of light, a finger piercing the night sky as if reaching into the Force itself, its warm glow spread radiance around its perimeter as soft whispers spoke the names of the lost for all eternity. It stood as a beacon for those who served the Light; a fitting memorial.

"Memory moths; their wings flutter the name of those fallen Jedi whose names are released with the moths into the light," another Jedi whispered to him, handing him a small container of dusty gray and brown moths. She shook one into her palm and held it near her face.

"K'arya," she spoke, her breath brushing against the moth as it soared free from her cupped hands.

"K'arya…K'arya…." One more Jedi, one more name. The cylinder almost imperceptibly lightened as moth after moth joined the column. Tears prickled at Anakin's eyes. He didn't want to let them go – any of them – but letting their names soar in the Light honored their lives and their deaths.

"Kass, Tae, Mak." Anakin whispered the names of those he'd lost, so many moths he freed, one at a time - "Aubrie, Elora, Vaabeesh, Warble, Zule," – and finally, with tears running down his face – "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

With his master's name fluttering in the wings of the remaining moths, Anakin released all that remained in the container and turned away, shoulders slumping. His master might as well be dead; for all that anyone was trying to save him. No one, not even Obi-Wan Kenobi, could survive what he must surely be suffering for long, for even his legendary endurance had limits.

The young Jedi closed his eyes and bowed his head as the golden light spilled through his eyelids, as the name of the fallen whispered through his mind as they would be whispered for all eternity, as a tear trickled from an eye.

"I'm not giving up on you, Master, until I find you – I just hope it's before you're truly dead. Force help whoever is responsible if all I find is your dead body."

Jabiim finally fell as the last of the Loyalists were slaughtered or surrendered even as a battle weary and exhausted Anakin Skywalker was enroute to Coruscant, an Anakin Skywalker still mourning those left behind.

When the casualties of Jabiim were totaled up, it was staggering. Jedi dead: twenty-seven; Clonetroopers: some seventy thousand.

On the Holonet, the news glossed over the defeat.

"The Hero Without Fear" was courageously continuing his battle to save the Republic, bravely moving forward despite his "personal tragedy" of losing his companion and mentor; single-handedly, the hope of the Jedi had kept chaos from erupting during the heroic evacuation of that doomed planet.

Anakin Skywalker became known as the hero of Jabiim, for always, a hero had to be anointed, and there were no other candidates. No other Jedi survived Jabiim.

Only one. "The Hero Without Fear."

* * *

The Hero of Jabiim returned with an empty heart to an empty Temple hangar, walked through empty hallways. Here the hero was no more than another Jedi between missions, another Jedi awaiting reassignment.

_Welcome home, we were so sorry to hear about your master_, and _how are you doing_? were his greetings.

Where were the words he longed to hear, words that would be a balm to his wounded heart?

_You did the impossible._

_You saved them_.

Where was the acknowledgement of his skill and deeds?

Where was the acknowledgement of what it meant to finally feel companionship with his fellow padawans, to fit in, only to abandon them to death? Where was there any consolation to be found?

Anakin knew he should have been grateful to be home, well in body if weary in spirit, wrapped in the soothing peace of the Temple. It seemed little interrupted by the rhythm of life within these wide and now echoing corridors – no stench of battle, adrenaline rush through the body, or cries of the dead and dying. It was an alien peace that didn't sooth, but prickled on his nerves.

It was somehow _wrong_, a void rather than an oasis – where something was _not_, rather than where something _was_.

His footsteps led him, weary and upset, through the long corridors where he had last trod with his master at his side or not far away. Relaxed after leave, their thoughts had been not on death and destruction, but the renewal of friendships and the peace of the Force.

Anakin had found relief away from the Temple with Padme; his master, within.

Anakin had been amused, if not surprised, to find that even on leave Obi-Wan had dropped in on classes, talked to padawans and initiates alike. Obi-Wan told his padawan that it was his way of keeping himself attuned to humanity. His eyes had twinkled as if he was laughing at the pretentiousness of the words, but there was a weary awareness deep behind his eyes, an acknowledgement that he was trying to keep himself grounded by leaving the soldier behind and finding the man within.

War and council meetings made the soul weary; working with the young lifted the burden, or so Obi-Wan claimed. Anakin couldn't dispute that, for the flickering glow of hope for the future that burned within Obi-Wan always shone that much brighter and stronger on his return.

So it was no surprise at all to the padawan to find his master absent from their quarters the last night before their leave was up. Anakin only sighed and finished his packing, and indulged in dreams of Padme until Obi-Wan showed up.

He had returned to quarters late that last night, to sheepishly admit he had stopped by to help Padawan Terzah with Diplomatic Arts class work.

Anakin had rolled his eyes and offered his master a drink as the Jedi shed his boots and sank gratefully into his chair. "Who knows how long until we return," he said under his breath.

"To war's end!" They clinked glasses, and put the war out of mind. Tomorrow they would return to it. Tonight, they would forget it existed.

"If you weren't tutoring _Padawan_ Terzah, I'd say you were out shopping for a new padawan," he said casually, eyeing Obi-Wan over the tipped lip of his own glass. Obi-Wan nearly swallowed air in his surprise.

"I have one," he offered in return. An old and nearly forgotten memory surfaced: Yoda stating severely to another master, another time, "a padawan you already have, Qui-Gon."

He ruthlessly squashed that memory. It belonged to another time, to a padawan who no longer existed.

Because there had been pain and anger at that time, to that padawan, he smiled warmly and repeated, "I have one." This one would never doubt his place with his master, he was determined.

"Yeah, but someday I sincerely hope you don't. They should knight me someday, before I'm as old as you, right, oh-ancient-one, my most revered Master?"

"Oh, no doubt about it," Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled at him. "Keep in mind that no Jedi has been knighted at your age, even within my own arguably long life span. But the current crop of initiates will no doubt be senior padawans before that date, so you see why I'm not currently looking."

"Funny, Master, funny."

Smiling, they had again clinked glasses and sat contentedly amongst familiar surroundings, knowing it might be a long while before they would return.

Tonight was to do as Qui-Gon always advocated. Tonight they would live in the moment, and in this moment, life was good.

* * *

_Life is not good; life is complicated and far too full of frustration_ Anakin thought, trying to quell his hasty steps as he made his way through the vast and nearly empty hangar, passing from its shadows into the softly lighted halls of the vast Temple. The sound of the fountains did not touch his consciousness; the fingers of light spilling from the tall windows went unnoticed.

He wanted to get this over and done with, as he anticipated it would not go well.

Muttering imprecations, Anakin's first stop could not be his quarters, a chance to hide and try to settle his mind. The Council came first – his report came before him. Duty – it was always duty first. There were times, like this, when Anakin wanted to shout nothing more than "damn duty, let a person be."

He paced in the anteroom. Hurry and wait, hurry up and wait. He was tempted to go to his quarters and relax; show up later. The Council would probably never know whether he cooled his heels in the antechamber or not. Even as he was thinking this, he was admitted before the Council to make his report.

Though he had promised himself he would not do so, his eyes automatically sought the chair where Obi-Wan sat when in attendance, but it was empty. He averted his eyes, mentally placing his master at his side where he usually stood, for he could feel his presence here with him. Obi-Wan was here, as were General Norcuna, General Leska, Tae, Kass, Aubrie – all the Jedi who had not returned from Jabiim – all dead, save one – his master.

"Padawan Skywalker, well you have done," Yoda offered gravely, when his report was accepted without further questions. "Jabiim a terrible defeat that was but survive you did. For that we are most grateful."

"I alone live of all the Jedi on Jabiim. I – and my master." Padawan or not, Anakin's eyes flashed. "How long Obi-Wan will live when I am not allowed to - ."

"Padawan! Face reality." Mace interrupted; his voice gruff. "We all grieve for Obi-Wan, but don't let your grief blind you. Your master lives no more and wishing it were otherwise does not change that. You should have released your sorrow by now and moved on."

Move on! Moving on meant abandoning one alive and suffering. A Jedi did not leave others to suffer needlessly. Now, today, this moment, to be a Jedi was to _not_ move on - but the Council did not see this. Their eyes, all of them, showed they did not believe, would not believe, the truth.

"Hard it was to leave those you wished to protect, understand I do. But as Jedi they lived; as Jedi they died. Honored their sacrifice you did, saved many more by following orders. Proud of you Master Kenobi would be," Yoda added. His ears drooped, and he exchanged a quick look with Mace Windu.

Perhaps he was wrong, it now seemed apparent they wished to believe the young Jedi's belief in his master's survival, but he offered no evidence and no proof. They would not accept his word, alone, regardless of their personal feelings.

"I hope a great injustice we do not do to Master Kenobi," Yoda half-whispered, too soft to be heard, as Anakin's stare accused them all of deserting a colleague.

_I'm sure he'd rather be unhappy and rescued, then still captive and proud of me_, Anakin thought resentfully, his face wooden. He bowed, which hid his grimace, and made his exit when dismissed, still simmering.

The wide and serene halls now seemed so alien to him: cold and impersonal spaces, where under the guise of peace snuck fingers of ice. The Temple had truly never been home to him – it had always seemed sterile and static, where the inhabitants wore masks of impassivity and dispassion. He had never truly felt like one of them – he felt true acceptance only at the end, there on Jabiim, with those now dead.

He had had enough of death. Too much loss, too much grief, too much pain. It didn't disappear by muttering: There is no passion, there is only peace. They still died – all of them – all the ones he should have been able to save. One would die, because he wasn't allowed to save him.

His emotions built, simmering from resentment into anger as he strode the residential hallways, unaware of his surroundings or the newest symbols of loss.

His footsteps carried him to his quarters and he lifted a hand to palm open the door – and saw it. The nameplate no longer said Kenobi/Skywalker. "Kenobi" was gone, obliterated, covered by a black band half-obscuring the name – wiping the man from memory. Consigning a man who lived in hell to the peace of the Force.

"No," Anakin whispered. A shout rose within him. "No!"

He ripped off the band and in the same motion pulled his lightsaber and charred it in the air as he dropped it. Ash drifted to the floor, where he ground it under his heels before entering his empty and silent quarters. The silence screamed at him, for _somewhere_, the man who should be _here_ breaking the silence with a quip was instead doing his best to remain silent when screams wished to be let free. Anakin _knew_ that, somehow.

In this silence, his heart could hear the silent screams that no one else could. Anakin did not stay there for long; he could not bear to sit there with his only company his master's suffering.

The Senate was in session; he would not be able to see his wife until the evening. As much as he needed, wanted to see her; needed her to make him feel needed; he knew that while he awaited word on his future, he would have several days leave to spend as he wished – as long as he didn't go looking for his master. "Only" several days, too few, for a man who deserved more, if one believed the implications heard on the Holonet or listened to the Chancellor.

The only consolation to his confinement to Coruscant while on leave was that Anakin would be free to spend his evenings and nights with his wife without having to sneak in and out of the Temple. His days could be spent sparring with whomever he could find, catching up with friends or tinkering; the one thing forbidden to him was to leave the planet without permission.

One duty remained, however, this one personal. As important to him as was seeing his wife, this had to take precedence.

He needed to talk to his master's friends. Jedi or not, they had known Obi-Wan far too long to dismiss his death as easily as Jedi wished others to believe. Their friend's padawan had to explain personally why he had not returned to offer his support as they faced their friend's memorial service.

Professional duty had been first: he had reported to the Council; he had cleaned up and now wished to flee his demons: those of abandoning those he was close to. He wanted to face friends – or so he hoped they still were, forgiving him for living when they thought their friend surely had not.

So the next thing to do upon his return was to seek out those of his master's dearest friends currently at the Temple. As a healer, Bant was almost always at the Temple.

As always, the thought of Bant made him smile.

Tenderhearted and kind, she had befriended the young boy he had been and helped ease his transition into Temple life with her gentle wit and warm ways. He loved Bant almost as well as he had his mother, just as much as he loved his master.

Garen: always teasing him, Reeft: always offering him food. They were like the older brothers he never had in a way that his master could never be, for they did not need to remain always conscious of being a mentor as well. Both were currently away from the Temple.

Siri Tachi was a close friend, too, often challenging his master to sparring matches and winning a fair share of them, too. Anakin had never quite figured out how Siri fit into his master's circle of close friends, tending to be on the periphery more than the others. There was a definite competitive streak between them that both would deny, even to themselves; certainly, Obi-Wan had denied it often enough to his padawan when asked.

Yet Siri was the friend to see them off, and the one his master kissed before departure. Granted, the kiss had been to her forehead and it hadn't been reciprocated, but there had been a look in Siri's eyes that spoke of regret and longing.

Anakin's curiosity was aroused, once again, at the tenderness that had been so apparent in his master's action. He had never realized Obi-Wan had such a gentle, if oft-hidden side, for it was so rarely expressed so openly.

Perhaps he didn't understand his master as well as he thought, just as the reverse was true.


	25. Life the Universe & Haleothe Vines

The three Jedi met, by unspoken agreement, at Obi-Wan's favorite spot in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Siri was already there when Anakin arrived, sitting curled up on the bench, idly fingering the vines. She looked up as Anakin approached and said softly, "Some of these were wrapped around a Naboo rose that Senator Amidala laid on his pyre. It was all we had of him."

Her eyes were misted with memories, soft and vulnerable. Anakin almost forgot to bow, surprised. Had grief for her long time friend softened the rough edges she usually showed? This was a side of the knight that Anakin was unfamiliar with.

"Master Obi-Wan is alive," he spoke firmly as he straightened from his bow, not sure how his master's friend would accept this ringing declaration that admitted of no doubt. Instead of pity for a misguided padawan who could not let go of grief, her eyes were sympathetic, looking oddly vulnerable at his words.

Siri simply nodded. "I think so, too. I would know if he wasn't."

Once again, Anakin was reminded that Obi-Wan had leant forward and dropped a soft kiss on Siri's forehead in response to her request that he be careful, be guarded by his padawan. Impulsively, he spoke as he normally would not.

"You're closer friends than I ever realized."

"Because we give each other a hard time? We were very close at one time," Siri admitted. "Stuff - happened, so we drew apart, but we found our way back to true friendship." She drew her knees up to her chest and smiled at Anakin. "Like the two of you, Obi-Wan and I sometimes had a turbulent history, but we always cared for each other. I don't suppose he ever told you much about those days."

"He never spoke about his past unless I pried it from him." He wondered if his resentment of that fact bled into his voice. Had he known that his master had faced some of the same fears and pressures as a padawan, yet had moved beyond them, he might have known that his master's suggestions and advice had some basis in fact and were not meant to subdue, but reassure his own padawan - "I sometimes think if he had, well, I'd have understood him better. It might have made things easier."

"Qui-Gon drilled him into letting go, to 'live in the present.' There were things he was ashamed of in his past, things he preferred to let go. You made it easy for him – you never asked, did you? He would have been honest with you."

It was true, he had to admit. He had never really been interested, not enough to ask, except sometimes for stories about Qui-Gon. His master would always hesitate and then reply with some story that usually had much to do with Qui-Gon and little with himself.

Anakin had been satisfied with those stories, for he had worshipped the Jedi master and grieved deeply for him when he had first come, lonely and homesick to the Temple. As he grew into adolescence, he had mainly thought of his master as a strict taskmaster, keeping him bound to study and duty and not one to share confidences with.

_Shame_? He slipped out of his musing to remember what Siri had said, and it piqued his interest.

"Ashamed? What would my master ever do that would cause shame? I thought he was always the perfect Jedi." His tone held a hint of bitterness, a touch of pride.

"Your master?" Siri's laugh was genuine. "Obi-Wan tried hard to be, but he couldn't. He worries about everything, you know that. Maybe not shame, but he did some things that ended up causing him pain at the time, things that hurt him as well as others. Things that he thought were right at the time, done for the right reasons, which turned out otherwise.

"He hates to think he has let someone down, disappointed them - you know that. How long did he feel guilty for not being at Qui-Gon's side when he took that fatal wound? He blamed himself for Qui-Gon's death – all because he thought he should have been faster, or avoided the kick that separated them."

"He did?" Anakin asked in surprise. He flushed at Siri's shake of the head and had the grace to mumble, "I was just a kid at the time; I wasn't paying a lot of attention to him."

"You were homesick and terribly sad at Qui-Gon's death, so that's perfectly understandable. Don't worry about it. On top of his own guilt, Obi-Wan was afraid you would never forgive him – he thought you, too, blamed him for not being quick enough to save Qui-Gon."

"He knew?" Anakin dropped onto the bench and put his head in his hands, flushing with guilt. "I did, too, for a time. I didn't think he knew, and I stopped thinking that after a while but – he knew? He took me as his padawan anyway?"

"Yeah, he did. You weren't thinking anything he wasn't already. He carried a lot of guilt about Qui-Gon, and about you losing Qui-Gon and being stuck with him for a long while. He tried hard to make it up to you, though he was convinced he could never be the master to you that Qui-Gon would have been," Siri soothed.

"We only knew because we knew Obi-Wan, not because he talked to us about it or anything. As it was, we practically had to drag the story out of him; he was pretty reticent about everything, though we knew he was really hurting deep inside. Did you know he cut off his own braid?"

Anakin only shook his head, immune to more surprises. "No ceremony – that's really terrible, didn't his knighting mean much to him?"

"Anakin, I hope you're never in a position to understand how Obi-Wan felt at that time!" Siri's tone softened as she continued with her explanation.

"He was shaken and exhausted from the fight, and he didn't feel like celebrating – not with Qui-Gon barely dead. He just wanted to get on with his life, as he thought his master would have wanted him to do, never knowing how much Qui-Gon looked forward to standing beside him knight to knight, comrades – he was just bursting with pride that for some reason he didn't want to display until then. I heard this from Adi some time later."

Anakin was still trying to absorb this new knowledge. Obi-Wan had declined, actually declined, a ceremony – one he was entitled to, one to mark an achievement worked long years for, a public acknowledgement of his accomplishment from his peers. Could the events on Naboo really have overshadowed that success?

Siri must have guessed the thoughts crossing his unguarded face; she looked at him for a moment, then said softly, "He would far rather have been a padawan with a master, then a knight minus his master. Is it any different for you, Anakin?"

Anakin nodded mutely as her words soaked in. He would give anything he had to have his master back at his side. He understood now, more than he wished he did. Even so…

But – he just – cut it? No ceremony at all, not even a quiet one?" For some reason, this really bothered Anakin. He anticipated his own ceremony with delight. He wanted everyone to be there – even those he knew couldn't, such as Padme and his friend the Chancellor. He wanted all his friends and colleagues to acknowledge him, his triumph at finally achieving his life's dream.

"Oh, he got one of sorts. We're not his friends for nothing; we conspired against him. He was the first of us to be knighted; none of us knew what really took place at the ceremony, so we made it up as we went. Obi-Wan resisted it until Bant turned the tears on. Obi-Wan can't stand to see Bant crying. We pinned Obi's braid back on him and Garen pretended to cut it off as Bant yanked the braid from the pins. Pulled out a patch of hair and scalp with it, too," a reminiscent smile touched her lips.

"Force, did Obi-Wan ever yelp! Bant was really crying then, so there he was with one hand rubbing his head and the other around Bant, trying to comfort her. I, of course, was laughing my head off as Garen stood there with his mouth open and Reeft went around offering appetizers to everyone. I'm surprised he never told you this story."

"I remember that night, or the morning after," Anakin said slowly. "About a week after we came back from Naboo, right? I kind of heard all you talking, but I was pretty much asleep. I woke up later feeling this – I don't know, wave of sorrow and grief from Obi-Wan – it seemed he was in some kind of pain, so I went into his room to see if he was okay. I thought maybe he was crying, because I didn't know then that he never cried. He said he was fine because I was there with him, and he picked me up and carried me back to bed, even stayed for a while until he thought I was asleep."

His voice was a bit husky with the memory: his arms around Obi-Wan's neck and the comfort of those arms around him. He had felt protected and wanted, remembered looking up at the gentle blue-gray eyes that smiled down at him when hands smoothed the covers over him: the same hands that wielded the lightsaber that had taken a life only days before was tucking in a small boy.

The almost-son who became the almost-father with one sword thrust then sat at the boy's side, and watched as his young apprentice snuggled into his pillow. Even now, Anakin wasn't sure that he had heard a whispered "thank you, Qui-Gon," before laying a land on the boy's back before leaving the room.

"You know, I think that was the first time I wasn't thinking of what I didn't have, but what I did have; I was just happy that he was happy I was with him. Maybe – maybe that's what he was thinking, too."

Siri patted his hand, barely noticing the shy smile he gave her.

Anakin's words surprised her; she had never thought what effect that get-together might have had on the new and still grieving knight. She had known that Obi-Wan had been holding in all his emotion during that incredibly exhausting week, and now realized that reality must have crashed in on him later that night. Their little celebration had probably hammered home that he would never have a real one, with his master at his side, as he must have dreamed of for long years. Perhaps that had been a cruel thing to do to him, at least at that time.

"Maybe we shouldn't have foisted that fake ceremony on him. It would make it hard… Bant must have realized - she said she would stay and sleep on the couch in case Obi-Wan needed a shoulder later on. Stupid me – he wasn't ready for that, not then."

That had been why she had been drawn to his side in those first nights…he was still struggling to make sense of his life and his grief. He was fine in the days, busy and controlled, but at night, as he slipped into sleep, the phantoms were stronger than his control. It was this that led him to seek solace in the peace of the gardens.

Anakin glanced at her from under long lashes and delved into his memories. "I think he was hurt in a good kind of way, you know – happy and sad at the same time. He probably felt terribly lonely and terribly lucky to have such good friends. I remember – after he shut the door I heard him talking quietly to someone. I never actually heard him go back to bed. Sure, he was out there talking to Bant."

"I heard my name…I'm here," she said, as Siri sat up properly and made room and Anakin stood. Bant hugged Anakin as he hugged her back; her head only came to mid-chest on him.

"Anakin, I'm so happy to see you – you look like you need a good, long rest."

"We were talking about that night we gave Obi his private knighting ceremony," Siri explained as Bant took the now open seat beside her. "You did stay that night, right?"

Bant's expression softened visibly; her thoughts clearly visible to Siri. _Poor Obi._ Clearly, she had been the only friend waiting for the inevitable. She had known as soon as it was mentioned how that mock ceremony would go, and probably participated only because she knew better than the rest of them how Obi-Wan had been hiding his emotions rather than releasing them, and figured he would be startled into confronting them afterwards.

"I did. I thought that Jedi veneer of his might crack. We all know how well he shields, so just when I was wondering if I should go check on him, I heard Anakin here," only Bant would tousle Anakin's hair and receive a grin in response, "go into Obi's room and then saw Obi carry him back to bed. Anakin had his head against Obi-Wan's shoulder, and Obi had that really soft smile on his face – you know the one, the one we wondered if he had forever lost on Naboo.

Siri nodded; she knew it well, a gentle and happy smile that came from the heart. The two women smiled at each other, remembering, and then Bant looked at Anakin with a very similar smile.

"You two looked like you belonged together, and I knew then that Obi knew it whether you did or not, Anakin. He had this kind of peace and acceptance about him that had been missing. I knew then he'd be fine, but we sat and talked for a while."

It wasn't her place to talk about Obi-Wan's no-longer suppressed tears that night as he cried into her shoulder, or the happiness he confessed that he was starting to find as a master to a padawan of his own. That had been the night that he had let go and accepted that his life had been forever altered and that he was strong enough to move forward. He had let go of the past.

"You've always been there for him, haven't you? For me, too." He hadn't been there for her when the Jedi said goodbye to Obi-Wan, he felt compelled to explain why now that he was facing her, though he had already talked to her once. "I couldn't be here, Bant, you know I would have come if my master had truly died. I'm sorry if I hurt you by my absence, but I just couldn't face being here."

Impulsively, Bant hugged Anakin again. "I know. It's okay, Anakin, it's okay. None of us doubt your devotion to your master." Anakin's eyes showed his gratitude at the understanding Bant showed him.

"I've lost so much already, Bant." His mind skittered away from thoughts of his mother; raw as that was and always would be, he had left his friends and colleagues on Jabiim, left them to their deaths and that wound was just as raw and far more recent. They had suffered together and he had really connected with his fellow padawans, only to lose them – he, the boy that had never quite seemed to fit in, was never quite accepted – was one of them.

He just hadn't died with them.

"I just can't bear the thought of losing him, of anyone else I care for. I'm so afraid I will lose him if I am not allowed to save him. I know he's alive, Bant, it's not just wishful thinking, truly it is not."

The next thing Anakin knew, two moist and slightly salty arms quickly hugged him, and just as quickly let go. No Jedi truly "mothered" another, but Bant had come close in those first days at the Temple when he had needed unconditional acceptance in a world he didn't understand and hadn't yet found his place in.

Obi-Wan had not been able to offer that: he was facing his own transitions, conscious and self-aware of his new responsibilities, and trying to balance the expectations he felt were now placed on him versus his own uncertainty at a new role thrust so suddenly and unexpectedly upon him without preparation.

He had tried, almost too hard, Anakin remembered, remembering the strained lines in his face and the barely visible smiles in those first days. That first tentative week had evaporated into the past that night, when Obi-Wan had carried him back to bed and stayed until Anakin had feigned sleep. They had found each other; the new strength of their bond apparent that very next morning as they left the past behind and faced the future together as a team.

"I know Siri believes the same as you do, and the two of you have made me doubt his death. Against all reason, you two make me believe it's possible he's alive – and somehow, that scares me. It's almost worst than Geonosis – at least then we knew he was alive. Now – all we can do is wonder and wait."

Anakin raised his eyes to Bant's, and nodded mutely. His master's friends, his friends, too, hurt just as much as Obi-Wan's padawan did. And they all did – nothing – for nothing could be done.

Except wait.

Wait. Doing nothing, sitting, while Obi-Wan was suffering. Waiting to rescue him, while Obi-Wan was waiting for rescue. His master in unbearable pain and his friends, his padawan, not coming to save him. Anakin bit back a moan of anguish at the thought. He could see that Bant and Siri shared his helplessness.

"I sense little and know nothing…but I just feel that we have enough of a connection that I would feel his death." Siri 's voice was soft. "If we just had the slightest clue to what might have happened… anything? Can you feel nothing through your bond, Anakin?"

"Nothing. I am so worried for him. I know he's alive; he has to be, but if he is – he's suffering and I can't do anything to stop it." In his frustration, his hand closed around a section of vine and squeezed. Crushed petals and leaves drifted down.

"Don't," Siri put a hand on his, stopping Anakin from a second squeeze, her eyes following the fallen flowers. "By holding on so tightly you hurt it. Don't destroy it – it holds the secret of the universe."

Anakin shook his head in confusion. _Secrets?_

"Not only that; you're holding Obi-Wan in your hand. One with the Force or not yet, we're all part of the Force, and the Force is everywhere, including those flowers."

_Flowers? _For the first time, Anakin saw the flowers hidden within the leaves. _Have they been there all the time?_ He looked down; one flower lay within his now open palm, one petal half torn off. As tenderly as if he were truly holding a partially crushed Obi-Wan in his hand, he let go – and the flower didn't crumble or fall. It was still attached to its stem, the stem to the vine. A little worse for wear, it would survive.

"It lives," Anakin whispered. _He lives_!


	26. In Deception Lies Truth

Note: I've been bad about posting updates, so I am going to post several here at once. This will take us beyond the first "arc" of the story - to freedom, so no one has to suffer through any more torture.

I'll post the reunion with Anakin shortly, and give fair warning for those who wish to bow out for the "Temple" arc.

* * *

Warm and moist - almost ticklish – was this red blood trailing down his chest, so it was strange that he shivered as he watched, strangely fascinated as the curly mat of deep brown hair on his chest turned auburn, like a slowly unfolding blossom he had once seen. Red continued to spill from a deep gash, one meant to look and feel worse than dangerous; one meant to affect he who watched rather than he who endured it.

Not that Alpha didn't feel some pain. Even his body could only take so much before his muted pain centers overloaded, for a clone was still human, even if genetically modified to be both more and less than "human."

Alpha sucked in his breath as he continued to glare daggers at the woman standing so negligently before him, vibroblade now dangling from one relaxed hand, knuckles smeared red.

Keeping her eyes on the man who bled before her, Ventress smirked as she addressed a question to the other man; "So, Kenobi – are you enjoying this yet?"

Ventress kicked Alpha, then swiftly drew her vibroblade and slashed a different line across his chest, this one diagonally across his shoulder and his upper arm. Even as she continued to slash and thrust at Alpha, she directed her words at Kenobi. The woman might be many things, but she was not a liar. She had as much told Alpha that he was her last weapon against the Jedi and everything she did backed that up.

Kenobi wasn't untouched, of course; it wouldn't do to have him _forget_ the pain. Alpha was just the tool, the weapon, the blade that pierced the Jedi's heart.

Kenobi needed to be aware and conscious, to be "sufficiently motivated" by Alpha's own suffering, so Ventress had minimized her physical attacks on him. But the wounds she inflicted on Alpha were far more painful to Kenobi than any physical wounds of his own, for his wounds were borne inside.

Under the influence of the mask, exhaustion, and prolonged pain, no man could long withstand the psychological pressure. Yet somehow, Kenobi still held on.

A victim himself, yet one whose first words, always, was to ask after another, when the door closed behind their tormenters. As a clone, Alpha knew duty and obedience to orders. He was learning right versus wrong, good versus evil, and compassion versus cruelty. His circumstances were forcing him to grow beyond his own impose biological limitations.

"The clone bites back his moans – but he hurts. You remember how it hurts, don't you?"

Ventress whirled and slashed haphazardly at Kenobi, and laughed lightly as he shook his head weakly; pressing his lips together to restrain whatever he had been tempted to say – but his eyes blazed. He was clearly not immune to Ventress's taunts, not any longer, even a Jedi's legendary serenity even in adversity itself now in jeopardy.

"Remember the pain – and remember it's your own stubbornness that forces me to this." Her vibroblade tickled at his neck, before swinging back to take another dig at Alpha.

"Fiendish perverted devil of Corellia's nine hells," Alpha spat. He tried to catch his general's eyes, to let him know that Alpha bore no malice towards him for being the unwitting cause of his own suffering. In the slow blink of an eye as the Jedi slowly lifted his eyes to meet his, much was silently communicated.

The Jedi would not yield, not willingly – but the price of silence was blood and tears – Alpha's blood and the Jedi's tears – and the struggle was slowly consuming him.

At such times, Alpha understood the impulse that led to tears, for tears he would have shed had he been capable of such. Instead, any tears shed in that cell, if any, ran slowly from the Jedi's eyes, tears shed by the Jedi for what he saw done to Alpha but never for himself, he was sure.

The Jedi wept for the fallen, for those who found joy in cruelty and for he who suffered from it. Alpha raged for the same – for those who found pleasure in pain, and on behalf of the man who could weep for those who inflicted such on others and for those on whom it was inflicted.

Kenobi paid another price as well: that of doing his best to take on another's suffering. He forced himself not to look away, not to blink, and not to outwardly betray his anguish, seemingly unaware of the slow tears trickling down the mask. Every so often Alpha had a sense that the Jedi was trying to soften his pain: the merest hint of a breath brushing against him as a shield, expending precious energy to offer the slightest of protection.

At such times, he would gasp and shake as if in terrible pain, and Alpha didn't know if the pain was from wounds of the body or of the mind. The Jedi never spoke of it, but it was clearly connected to whatever he seemed to be attempting.

In the still hours when they were left alone, those precious few hours where rest, respite and recovery was their goal, their slight respite and brief uneasy sleep before the next onslaught a chance to recover so they would not die her goal; his general would whisper into the dark, voice haunted by sorrow and regret, "I am sorry, so sorry but I cannot allow myself to stop this. This mask may take from me what I cannot give to her…but I cannot give her what she wants – my soul. Better our lives than the lives of countless innocents. Forgive me. I would take this from you if I could."

Alpha would whisper back, as if the very silence would fracture into shards of glass that would break them if the sound was any louder: "You already share in it more than you should, for you bear your own pain as well as mine," and in the silence that always followed he would know that the Jedi's heart bled, too, from invisible and intangible wounds, with each drop of blood Alpha's body shed.

That it was even possible to such awareness of a Jedi's internal pain was unusual in Alpha's experience: the Force took what a Jedi could not retain; it was what allowed a Jedi to do what had to be done, see what had to be seen, and not break under the weight – but Kenobi was not just minus the Force – the Force itself now seemed to be a weapon turned against him.

His grasp on it had been weak from the very first, then his body battered until even a Jedi's mind couldn't help but become mired in pain. Now what little of the Force he could access did not help him, only hindered him. Whatever that mask was, it was capable of perverting all that was good to evil. The battle was now one between Obi-Wan Kenobi - the man and the Jedi - and a Force the Jedi no longer knew – a battle that was slowly destroying him.

Without the pain impulses of a normal human being, Alpha's mind could remain somewhat unclouded by his treatment, so usually he was the first to speak after Ventress and Aidus departed, talking about anything that came to mind to distract his commander and help him to focus his attention away from all that had transpired beforehand.

He remembered how Kenobi had tried to protect him once: _"He follows order, Ventress; I'm the one who gives them. You want information; you try and get it from me."_ He could do no less in return; he would stoically endure all that Ventress threw at him – but he had a better plan.

He would deliberately deceive, going against his very nature. He could easily justify it, for it would be to protect his commander, and thus well within his mandate.

Everything - everything Ventress did to him was directed at Kenobi, and therefore if he was right – Alpha let out an artistic groan and sagged in his chains as if he had lost consciousness. He could feel Kenobi's worried eyes on him, but he could not reassure the man.

A low whisper from Aidus advised Ventress that any more and the clone might succumb. As long as Alpha suffered, Kenobi suffered, so Alpha had to be kept alive. Feign unconsciousness, both would have a respite, Alpha figured, correctly as it turned out.

"Have you been entertained yet, Obi-Wan? Because you refuse to yield, he bleeds his life away. Surely the mask by now has you enjoying his suffering. Admit it!"

"Force forgive me, yes," the very admission seemed torn from him. Alpha almost stared in disbelief; had the mask the ability to make the Jedi turn against his very nature? Did the Jedi instead seek to protect Alpha from further harm by playing his own game of deception, pretending to break? He knew better than to think that his general truly enjoyed watching his torture – either the mask spoke through the man, or it was pretense.

"We make progress then. Remember his pain is due to your stubborn refusal to embrace your hate and anger." Ventress grasped Kenobi's chin and stared into eyes that blazed with utter fury. "I see my plan is working – you hate me with all your heart just now, don't you? Soon you will be consumed with your hate – and you will belong to me."

"Not as – long as – I am a Jedi!" Obi-Wan spat, the struggle not to hate all too apparent despite the mask, despite the chains that held him in place. "My heart may be all but consumed, but as long as one tiny spark of light remains I am not yours, but the Force's, to command – _my_ Force, not yours."

"Not for long, Kenobi. Feel the Force twist within you – it commands you to obey, and Obi-Wan Kenobi is such a good Jedi that he is incapable of ignoring the will of the Force. It compels you to submit to its will, does it not? Dare you deny its voice now?" Her voice dripped with amused malice.

With a flick of her head, Ventress directed Aidus to leave with her. For long moments after they left, Kenobi struggled fruitlessly in his chains, biting back incoherent screams of rage before suddenly sagging limply and breathing deeply to regain control.

"I am a Jedi – I am strong enough to resist – I have to be strong enough,"Kenobi mumbled, his voice thick with shame and fear – and stubborn determination. "I can't -won't…let the mask – control me."

Alpha watched his general in stunned silence, as the Jedi found refuge in a controlled breathing exercise that Alpha had seen before, one meant to calm the mind and free it of troubling thoughts. It seemed to help, though not entirely release the emotions that troubled him so profoundly.

"Alpha, forgive me, and may the Force have pity on my soul," Kenobi whispered shortly after.

"For what, general?" Now that the Jedi's fury was spent and sanity had seemingly returned, Alpha struggled to raise his head, forcing words out between breaths. He had never been in danger of losing actual consciousness, but he was in pain. Even his body could only take so much.

Though a clone felt pain far less than other humans, he took time to recover, for the human body was fragile, clone or not, and any punishment it absorbed did affect it, just as it did with a Jedi.

Kenobi slowly blinked, deep in his internal struggle for his center; apparently Alpha's act had fooled him as well, another sign that the Jedi lacked his usual awareness.

"For …losing control. For evil thoughts…. This mask - I'm so sorry. She's hurting you to reach me…to turn me – to allow one to avoid the other, to stop one to plunge into evil myself -I no longer know which would be less cruel -and I as yet see no way out of this – except death."

Rather suddenly, Alpha understood. Not fully, not completely, but more than he had before. They had taken a strong man, a Jedi, and used his compassion as a weapon. Quite literally, Kenobi was being twisted away from his own nature and just as desperately he was trying to twist it back.

When the mask gained a temporary hold, anger and hate dominated until the man – the Jedi – wrested control back to himself.

After that soft apology, Kenobi had not spoken again, had not asked how Alpha fared or uttered another syllable.

Alpha's eyes narrowed as he studied the emaciated body of his general, his face hidden behind the mask. The physical marks of his captivity were all too evident – innumerable wounds wept blood from cuts, tears and burns, yet most of the wounds were old and poorly healed. The unsanitary conditions postponed any real chance to heal; skin punctured and burnt, skin crusted with filth, dirt and blood.

He was just as sure he looked no better himself, and if so, he understood the Jedi's distress on his behalf.

"General. General, sir?"

It was several long, agonizing moments before the Jedi responded, his voice slurred and heavy.

"Alpha?"

"Yeah, it's me, general. Just what does that mask do to you? What's happening to you?"

"Evil." He did not elaborate.

"Evil? Talk to me, general."

"The Force has – I'm…the mask it makes me think, feel – evil things. Atrocities. Hate – kill her – enjoy watching…suffering."

"Whose suffering? Your own?"

There was a long pause, and when the answer came, it was so soft Alpha had to strain to hear it.

"Yours."

* * *

Every living being had a point where everything just shut down. Exhaustion's drug ...a body no longer fought once that point was reached, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had reached it. 

Fighting the mask with everything he had within him had exhausted Obi-Wan Kenobi so utterly that he stopped resisting. He literally could not resist any longer, for his body and mind could be pushed no further without rest. When he had no more fight left in him, the mask lost its power to twist his thoughts, for his mind was far too tired to think.

_Yes, Obi-Wan, yes. I know you can barely think through the pain, through the mask, but you have to find the strength to remember what you know – and then find the courage to risk eternal darkness. Dare to let go. _

The Force could not carry the ghost's hopes and thoughts, however, to the one the words were directed to. Obi-Wan Kenobi would have to fight this battle alone, with nothing but his own training and character as the means of triumphing over the mask.

The ghost longed to embrace the valiantly struggling man, soothe the hurt, shed his own tears for the man his padawan had become and the boy he had been; for the burdens such a one should not have to bear and for the burdens yet to be borne

The Force's own Guardian to its own Chosen One: destinies intertwined and destinies still in motion. What that destiny was, what his role would be, Obi-Wan would not know until that day the Force itself called him home and lifted the burden off shoulders strong enough to bear it – and weak enough to bend under the weight.

In these long moments that his battered and aching mind drifted with little conscious thought, Obi-Wan somehow grasped that he was on the verge of losing everything he valued. Resistance was only ensnaring him into the mask's clutches, ever so slowly and steadily. There had to be another way, a way to resist without triggering the mask.

_Yes, Obi-Wan, find the strength to think, and then to feel. The solution is within you, padawan mine. You can fight through this – I know you can, but you have to fight with your heart and your soul, not your mind. You are strong, my Obi-Wan – no matter how weak, you are strong._

_Remember what you have learned…now – now is the time you must remember how to let go – for when you have lost everything, there is nothing left to lose…_

Within the mind of the man, battered into submission and exhaustion, still existed the mind of a Jedi, one that had not given up; one that still sought for a weapon to fight with, a weapon not perceived by the mask and thus one not twisted back against the wielder of it. Finally, a possible and dangerous answer, from Jedi teachings itself, surfaced.

It was one of the first truths Obi-Wan had learned as an initiate, though its mastery took far longer - to face, accept and release unwelcome and distracting thoughts and emotions. A Jedi could not function without that ability, for without a calm mind a Jedi could not even hear the Force.

It was a Jedi's answer to everything; a twin to absolute trust in the Force. It had proved itself many times in many circumstances. It had never failed him. Obi-Wan would have to trust it would not, this time, as well.

It would take something a part of him fiercely rebelled against, for the price of defeat was a price he didn't wish to pay – the price of not trying, perhaps succeeding – just as damning: eternal damnation and destined never to rejoin the Force that had birthed him

If he wasn't lost while fighting for the Light, he would be lost by not fighting at all.

_Face it, accept it and let it go. Let it pass through you. _In tandem, the mind of the Jedi and the whisper of a Force ghost spoke.

_You begin to understand the difficult, but not impossible, path before you, padawan mine. Your strength of character, your stubbornness, will allow your heart to triumph if you only trust in what you know and who you are – who I know you are. Be who you are, Obi-Wan, shield your heart no longer for now it is your greatest weapon against the dark._

_Listen to what the mask whispers, for it for it whispers truth wrapped as deceit. Hold onto you – your heart…and then give it to the darkness. _

The Darkness was merciless, its tools deception and seduction. Perhaps the lies of the mask were truth, however twisted in its presentation. The mask twisted the Force – twisted emotions – perhaps twisted truths as the Darkside itself deceived through truths disguised as lies, and lies disguised as truths.

Obi-Wan shut out Alpha, he shut out his own pain, he shut out his fear of falling to the Dark – and listened to what the mask whispered.

_**It is your escape – each can be your pathway to freedom – each is your inner heart, the source of your true strength if you but accept it**_. _**Choose one…and be who you were meant to be.**_ _**Free your anger, free your hate - free them and they will free you**__…_

Free them.

Free them – and let them go. Of course.

Face – fear – release. It would not be easy, this path, yet success was worth any struggle. The mask was not Darkness, only its tool, the Darkness was what it found within him and twisted to its own ends. He fought only himself, and he knew the enemy well.

He would have to willingly accept the Dark and let it pass through him – or be consumed.

"Alpha." Once he had the clone's attention, Obi-Wan held his eyes. He dared not explain. "Remember – your promise – and how stubborn – I am – and may the Force be with – us both."

He could see that Alpha didn't understand – but Alpha nodded, trust implicit in the gesture.

"May the Force be with you, general."

Cracked lips almost parted in a long forgotten smile. It was what he needed to hear.

_Face. Accept. Release._

Face the darkness, accept it – and pray to the Force that seemed to have forsaken him but that he would never forsake, that he could release it.

Accept. Accept…

…that he would have to endure everything done to Alpha, that though it was directed at him, the pain was Alpha's to bear…

... that he would have to stop resisting and let hate and anger wash through him…

…that he might be lost forever; that Alpha would might or might not somehow be able to release him from the darkness by sending him into the Force that defined him….

…accept that he might fail, but accept that he had no choice but to try – dare to accept the darkness in order to defeat it.

He would not sell his soul, but he would risk its loss. He would risk eternal damnation if risking it might buy salvation for the greater number – for the innocents in this struggle who already paid too high a price. Careful not to reach for the Force as he called on its memory to give him strength – he let go. Let go of the desire to stay in the light, let go of the desire to be free and let go of the wish to remain free of the darkness that reached so hungrily for him….

Obi-Wan Kenobi gave himself to the darkness.

* * *

The same doorways were again before him, each open, each beckoning, _come_. This time he chose a doorway at random and walked through it without hesitation. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi had walked into his heart.

The dark crawled at his feet and slithered seductively up and around his body, reached icy fingers into his mind, whispered dreams of revenge in his ears as it showed him taking vengeance against those who hurt him: Ventress sprawled lifeless at his feet, rather than the reverse.

He had chosen the doorway named **hate**. He opened himself to it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi – knew hate.

Raw, powerful, empowering – but it didn't free him. It exhausted him, burned away by a body that could not sustain the passion and had no wish to, for it knew that along that path lay no destination, only a journey that would take him further into darkness.

_I am hate – _accept_ – yet I refuse your chains – _release it.

The dark lightened as a faint glow stretched to his feet, beckoning him to follow, its whispers not of revenge, but of hope, caressing rather than commanding. It instinctively drew him; a moth to a candle, for Obi-Wan Kenobi belonged to the Light.

Obi-Wan knelt before it. One hand reached out – hesitated as it paused over the glow.

_**Snuff it out**_! The Force hissed. _**It burns you**_. The light flared into burning flame. He sizzled as well, a human torch, under its touch aflame – burning, ever burning.

_Accept me, I warm you_, a gentle voice whispered. _I am you – for you have found your heart. _The flame became a glow, sizzling flesh only a memory.

_**Keep it lit and you shall die**_

_Keep me alive and you shall know yourself_. _Turn and face your path – and you shall know your heart. Only you can decide; the answer is yours alone._

**Love** was written over the doorway by which he had entered. Others were marked _compassion – mercy – selflessness._

**Love**, the other side of **hate**.

Images of Siri, of Anakin – of Qui-Gon - flashed through his mind. **You will lose them but live**, from the Force; _you will keep them and perhaps die, but live forever in the Force_, his heart whispered. **Your choice**…_your choice – _his choice

Obi-Wan knew that anger and hate would take those images from him, love would keep them alive - and he understood – to flood the dark with light, he had to meet hate – with love. Anger with serenity, despair with hope and hate – with love.

He had to succeed, for them. For Anakin. For Bant, Garen, Reeft. Yoda, Mace. Qui-Gon. For the Force, the Force that he knew and had been twisted so perversely.

He could choose who and what he cared most for. He could choose what the mask offered him, or what the light offered him. He could choose to be what he wished to be, or what the mask wished for him to think he was. What he truly was not at issue, only what he hoped to be.

His choice.

Revenge. Take the hate and the anger and turn it against Ventress and crush her from the inside out, glory in her death rattles– and become no better than her. Obi-Wan Kenobi would die – but at his own hands, and the shell of what had once been him live – but it would be life in a prison of his own making.

Or love. Live, or die, but as the man he hoped always to be. Remember Qui-Gon's fingers wiping a tear from his face with his last breath. Remember Anakin's hiccup of happiness to see him return from his first solo mission minus his padawan. Remember Siri sitting at his side as he mourned his master, offering silent support when he most needed someone.

There was no choice. He knew what he valued most.

He chose love.

_I love you, Siri. Know that, should I die here, I die so that I may live in the Force forever. _His mind reached to that last memory of her, his heart calling her name.

On Coruscant, a knight blinked and buried her head in her hands, shaken out of her meditation – she almost thought she had heard Obi-Wan's gentle voice and felt a callused hand brush her cheek.

_Obi-Wan – if I'm not crazy and somehow it was you I felt – know I love you. I let you go, even though I love you, for you are not mine to hold onto, only to hold. Come home._

She brushed a sudden tear away from her eyes….

… a tear moistened Obi-Wan's lips as if from a face bent to his, a single tear that had fallen as if from another's heart…

…his heart smiled and his heart gave it back…a promise that both hearts would heal…

…a tear sparkled on skin as if once again Obi-Wan had dropped a tender kiss as he had once on parting, and for the first time in weeks Siri felt a stir of hope in her heart as if the Force had whispered to her not to give up hope….she could touch Obi-Wan, if only in her heart….

Two people seemed, for a endless second, to transcend time and space, for Obi-Wan was cradling Siri's face in gentle hands as she smiled at him and met his lips with her own…and the moment that never was, ended, yet emblazoned within two hearts.

_A gift from one pure heart to another_, _a present from the Force itself_, a Force ghost breathed, watching transfixed. _Had my tears such power, you would have all of mine as well._

_Siri._ With a smile in his eyes, one of very few in the long, aching weeks, Obi-Wan held onto the memory of Siri – of love- and echoed a vow made years ago, a vow when Padawan Kenobi pledged his heart and soul to the Light and gave his life into the keeping of the Force to become Knight Kenobi.

_I give my life to you_ – and Obi-Wan reached into the flame. It flared hungrily and licked up his fingers, his hand, his arm until his entire being was bathed in light, a fire without heat and a fire that did not burn - a fire that illuminated rather than destroyed.

The shadows retreated, howling and held at bay as the light flared and grew stronger until it slowly faded, leaving only a faint luminescence behind. Head bowed, the man was humbled once more at the power of Light, now knowing the strength of Love. The Jedi slowly stood and faced the darkness.

"I accept the darkness, find my heart and make it yours." He opened his heart and his arms to the snapping darkness. It rushed forward at his invitation and howled as the Darkness met Light.

Luminescence met incandescence; a brilliant light flared and banished the dark …and a Force ghost let out its breath, and wept tears of relief. The darkness had been consumed. Obi-Wan Kenobi had found and freed his heart.

It was a battle fought on a level that all but guaranteed that the Jedi would not remember how he won; only that he had. The fight had taken its toll on the weakened man.

A sigh, as of a last breath, stirred the air in a cold cell and a clone shivered, wondering if his general had breathed his last.

In the unfelt embrace of a ghost – Obi-Wan slept.


	27. Empty Chairs and Empty Heart

_Perhaps the Chancellor is correct – perhaps now after Jabiim the Council will deem me ready to be knighted. Perhaps that is why I am summoned once more. _The "perhaps" was his nod to the humility expected of a Jedi.

The Chancellor's relief and gratitude still warmed Anakin's heart as he made his way to the Council room for the second time since his return, only this time instead of trepidation and ill-concealed reluctance; he was touched by more than a little hope and sense of purpose. He had had a nice long visit with the Chancellor the previous day and he was far more at ease facing this second council summons.

Perhaps this time – perhaps the Council deemed him ready. Perhaps after all the recent tragedies and heartbreak he was to be recognized as his own man – a knight – no longer a padawan dutifully trailing after his master. He had been forged on the anvil that was Jabiim – perhaps drowned rather than tempered – he thought with a small quirk of his lips in a half-humorous and half-deprecating grin.

Once he passed his trials, unless granted knighthood for his trials during the wars itself, he would be constrained by no orders to remain on Coruscant. Knighted, on leave, he would have no obstacles in his path to find and rescue Obi-Wan. His reward for his hard work would be to stand at his master's side, his equal, no longer his padawan but now only – only his friend and companion.

His smile broadened: wouldn't Obi-Wan be pleased and surprised when Anakin broke whatever shackles bound him, to see his padawan newly shorn of his braid – or should he wait until Obi-Wan was at his side? Obi-Wan would be sorely disappointed if he missed the ceremony, having had none of his own, yet Anakin dreamed of standing before him as a knight, acknowledged his equal even if he had been his equal and more in Force power for some time.

A dilemma indeed, yet ultimately, out of his control, the decision the Council's, not his.

Upon further reflection, he decided the Council would almost certainly schedule him for the trials, thus allowing him to postpone making any decision on the ceremony itself. Even though Obi-Wan had been knighted in the field, very few knights faced real life trials equivalent to the more formalized tests devised by the Council.

Then there was the question of the Chancellor's "interference" as he was afraid the Council would see it.

"Interference" or "meddling;" either way, the Council did not like outsiders giving advice, regardless of how sound that advice was, and if Palpatine had followed through on his words of the day before – the Council had been advised to recognize what was in front of their noses in the most diplomatic way possible.

Palpatine had praised him highly, listened to his pain at leaving his friends behind to die, assuaged his guilt with reassurance that he had proven his bravery that day, and all but advised him that the Council could do nothing except recognize his maturity and skills and give him his long-awaited and long-overdue chance to advance. A slight flush colored his skin as he remembered their meeting and his warm welcome.

"Anakin! The Hero of Jabiim! You're safe. Thank you, Anakin, on behalf of the Republic, thank you," he had said, standing ready to greet the young man as soon as he showed up at the Chancellor's request for a meeting, his hand outstretched and not giving the young Jedi a chance to bow in respect.

"My dear boy," he had lightly colored, covering it with a diplomatic cough. "Hardly a boy anymore, are you, Anakin? I see before me a young man, one who has faced difficult decisions with maturity and strength of character: a man, a Jedi knight." He beamed as he guided Anakin to a seat.

Gratified and humbled at the praise, Anakin grinned a bit bashfully, looking suddenly very boyish.

"Sorry, sir, but I'm not a knight yet."

"Surely, Anakin, your Council is not that blind are they?" he lifted an eyebrow in surprise and annoyance. "Why must they be so blind to what is front of them?"

"I only did my duty, sir, I did what any Jedi would do when given such an order."

"You behaved every bit as a knight would," Palpatine corrected, his hand warm on Anakin's shoulder. Unbidden, a memory sprung into the young man's mind: Obi-Wan's clasp and the cool blue-gray eyes warm with a hint of laughter – it had been so long since that callused hand had rested there or squeezed so lightly – he looked up and was startled to meet the Chancellor's eyes instead of his master's. A slight shudder ran through him.

"What is it?" the Chancellor asked, eyes full of concern.

"My master, sir," he said tightly.

"Indeed, a terrible loss Master Kenobi's death was to us all. To you personally, and so few months after the loss of your mother. It must be quite – painful."

"Very painful," Anakin ground out through his teeth. "He's not dead, Chancellor, and what I find extremely painful is not being allowed to go to his rescue."

The Chancellor's eyes narrowed and he sat upright, his eyes affixed on the young man's face. "You know this – how?"

"I know only that he's not dead," Anakin said firmly. "The Force tells me nothing else and the Council will not allow me to go off on some 'reckless pursuit' of one they believe dead while the galaxy is at war."

"I rather think I should persuade your Council to allow you a decent length of leave after what you've been through," Palpatine said slowly. "One that extends beyond your knighting, if I can make them also see what is before them: the finest young Jedi the Order has seen in some time. That should allow Knight Skywalker some time, should it not, to traipse around the galaxy in search of – well, who knows?"

The rest of that visit had passed in a bit of a haze for the suddenly hopeful padawan. Palpatine was going to help him; Palpatine would give him the opportunity to do what he needed most desperately to do: save lives, starting with the one most important to him at the moment, the one currently in jeopardy.

His master. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

With his master's name ringing in his mind, Anakin squared his shoulders and walked slowly into the Council chambers as the door swung open to admit him, a look of proper humility on his face as he covertly scanned the faces of the Council members – and almost froze, his hopes for the moment forgotten at what faced him.

He swallowed hard. Force, he had truly walked into this without preparation, for he truly had forgotten what he would face. He had been prepared the first time; not this time, and so it felt like gravity had doubled and dropped his heart into his boots, or an armored fist had punched him in the gut.

Empty seats. Five of them, but three were filled by holograms. Two sat empty, a black band across the armrest of one.

_At least they haven't replaced him yet_, Anakin thought with relief. He could imagine the shock and dismay if his master strode into the Council chamber and saw his place casually taken by another; then reality set in. Regardless of his feelings, Obi-Wan would hide behind that careful mask of calm he could so readily adopt.

He bowed before the Council, but his eyes kept straying to the empty seat that Obi-Wan occupied when present at the Temple or via hologram when absent. It wasn't the only empty seat before him, but this was the only one that mirrored the emptiness he felt, for though he had been prone to mute the bond in later years under the weight of his secrets, the bond had always been there, alive and warm. It was a part of him that he cherished; its absence sorely missed.

"I haven't forgotten, and I won't ever give up on you master," Anakin thought fiercely, bringing his attention back to the room at large, and perhaps, his future.

It felt strange, once again, to stand in the Jedi Council chambers, alone in the center position, when normally he stood several paces behind and to the side of his master when the team reported to the Council.

It was strange when he entered alone after Obi-Wan's elevation to the Council rather than trailing behind, but his master would always arise and meet him in the center speakers position with a quick welcoming grin before turning to face the Council in his usual position several steps ahead of and to the side of his padawan.

A solitary figure again a second time within this chamber, he felt alone as he had not his last time here. He had felt the weight of his master's presence at his side when he reported on his return from Jabiim; he had also felt the weight of all those who had died there for he spoke for them – of their hardship, their bravery and their sacrifice. Now all he felt was their absences. Now, he was truly alone and all eyes were on him.

After the barest of pauses to allow the padawan to smooth his expression and calm the raging emotion in his eyes, the reason for the summons was made clear.

"Padawan Skywalker, we are assigning you temporarily to the mastership of Ki-Adi-Mundi," Mace Windu said, his eyes not failing to notice how the young Jedi stiffened. "We are well aware of your fine performance on Jabiim, but the Council is not ready to let you take the trials as we feel you are not fully prepared. We acknowledge the steps you have taken, and feel confident you will be ready sooner rather than later."

_What must I do to prove I am more than ready! I know it, the Chancellor knows it – I am just as strong in the Force if not more so than this Council collectively!_

"You have not learned to let go of things and accept the Force's will when it clashes with your own yet," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, his eyes intent on the young Jedi's face. "The mastery of self is all that stands between you and your future, as with all senior padawans."

Aware of the palpable tension, several Council members stirred uneasily. The young Jedi was barely trying to mask his anger, proving the truth of the spoken words.

Shaak Ti added gently, "You are not much past your twentieth year as yet; it is the rare padawan that is ready so young. Ready your own master was not until some years older than you are now, and even then, had it not been for circumstances, he probably would have remained a padawan another year or two. Your exceptional skills set you well ahead of your peers, and make you the equal of many a knight, but it takes more than mere skill to advance in rank; it takes also self knowledge that one so young rarely achieves."

"Let go your master you have not," Yoda added as Anakin's eyes flashed. "Let go attachments a Jedi must. Mourn him, but seek him not, for find him you will not except in the Force. Gone he is."

"I beg to disagree." Anakin was rather proud of how calm that came out, though he could feel a few beads of perspiration touch his forehead. A padawan was not supposed to speak up, but accept the correction. He waited for the disapproving stares, the frowns he expected to be directed at him for it was clear he had displeased the Council. Instead, he was questioned, invited to speak his mind.

"Then persuade us, Padawan. Where is Master Kenobi? Why can no one else sense him? Why could we find no sign of him on Jabiim? Give us something tangible."

Adi Gallia leant forward in her seat, eyes intent, and Anakin saw that she wished to be persuaded, wanted to agree with him, but could not. He saw the same thing in many of the masters' eyes and blinked. His hopes rose. If he could find some argument they would accept they might give him leave to search for his master – but he had already given them his reasons and they had not accepted them.

His hopes plummeted.

"I can give you nothing but what I have already presented to you. Were my master dead, I would know it, I assure you. That is a fact, masters, not wishful thinking."

"If you ever give us a 'fact' as to who has Master Kenobi, or where – even how - this discussion can be resumed. We cannot spare any Jedi to waste time on a personal quest without direction - ," Mace held up a hand at the sight of Anakin's sparking eyes.

"Padawan – you know we are spread thin. Outlaw elements are getting bolder, taking advantage of our preoccupation with the war – Republic planetary governments and Jedi alike. Give us a fact – just one fact - and you are free to search for him. We are not heartless beings, but we have to be realistic and so must you."

A clenched fist within the sleeves of his robe was the only sign of Anakin's anger. How could he find facts – any fact – without leave to search for any?

"You ask me to give up hope when it is not hope, but knowledge, that my master lives.

You ask me to give him up and leave him to his fate – to leave one of ours behind without lifting one finger to try to save him and try to justify it as a 'letting go of attachments'? This Council has let go of decency –."

"Padawan!" Mace barked, as Yoda shook his head and Adi Gallia only looked sad. "This outburst is what we are talking about. Release your emotions. Release your fear and grief for your master, for those who died on Jabiim. Let go what has gone and face what is ahead. We know you grieve and we do not expect otherwise, but do not allow yourself to act under its influence and lose control."

At this point of simmering tension, his master would usually give him a gentle but stern swat through the training bond, a reminder to control his emotion – but Obi-Wan was not here to perform his masterly duty. Anakin swallowed hard; he would do what his master commanded, even if the command was only from his memories. He bowed his head in submission.

"Padawan." Ki-Adi-Mundi had been rather quiet after his earlier comment; his eyes studying the young man thoughtfully. "The Council has seen fit to assign me as your temporary master for the immediate future. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course, master," he said as his heart shouted no. So, the "Chosen One's" future path was uncertain. Anakin would not be knighted for his service. His master still officially dead, he was still to be a padawan, still in another Jedi's custody.

"We shall speak later this day, then."

Mace's "may the Force be with you," dismissal followed. Anakin bowed and left the Council chamber rather ungracefully, not at all happy. He could feel the eyes of the Council members following him.

"Let us hope his exasperation with this Council compels him to find some proof that Obi-Wan lives, if indeed he does, and where we may find him," Mace said, a grim expression on his face after the door shut behind the simmering young Jedi.

"Force knows he needed that slap-down you gave him, Mace," Adi said, her eyes showing weariness. "Harsh, but I hope effective. Perhaps it will anger him enough to let go of his grief and actually listen to the Force – to concentrate on a way to find his master, if he is right about Master Kenobi."

Mace was the first to voice the collective thoughts of the Council, for the idea of one of their own alive and suffering was deeply disturbing to them all.

"If he is still alive, he must need rescuing pretty badly by now - I can't imagine what he must have suffered. Anakin must find proof if it exists – Obi-Wan needs him if he is right, and all we can do is sit here unable to act. I do not like leaving Obi-Wan – any Jedi – any being - helpless in the hands of an enemy as we do nothing."

Mace rubbed his eyes, wishing for a moment to indulge his desire to smash a fist into something, anything, yet knowing the action would help no one. _Skywalker thinks we don't care – if he only knew_.

"Find proof, find Obi-Wan he will, if anyone can," Yoda added. "Master Mundi on your mission with Master Gallia and Master Koon, keep watch on young Skywalker. If focus less on his grief, focus more he might on answers, but push too hard, do not. Leave soon, you do? Have no hope, I do, that fighting pirates will give us the knowledge we need, unless the Force wills it."

"We shall hope the Force wills it, then," Adi said softly. "May the Force be with both Master Kenobi and his padawan."

"May the Force be with us all," Mace said, nodding in dismissal of Council.


	28. Dancing with the Light

He woke to aching silence.

_Hate! Revenge! Kill! Take strength from the suffering of others!_ Those voices no longer clamored for his attention, promising freedom from pain, escape from horror, and surcease from suffering.

Those voices had been silenced. Peace now reigned in his heart, mind and soul.

_Wrap your fingers around her throat –crush her throat between your hands, squeeze until she screams as you have wished to scream, until her screams cease to cleave the air - strangle her_ _and you strangle your own screams!_ It had been a seductive whisper, a promise of ending his pain by seeing it borne in the pain of others.

Lies – all lies.

But oh so seductive, those lies.

Those voices were mercifully silent now; the poison purged and the venom vanquished. He was free, no longer tormented by insidious whispers of hate and vengeance speaking in his own voice, insisting that all he needed to do to stop his suffering was to make others suffer in his stead.

The promise of freedom that would only have shackled him in despair had he weakened and the delight in dreams of evil deeds– the thoughts of havoc and devastation that had been ravishing his mind – were now gone.

His mind was free, his own now, the only thoughts those he chose to have and those wisps of slowly returning thoughts were of those he cared for most. He had almost forgotten their voices and their faces; the mask had almost taken those whom he valued most away from him along with everything else he most valued. Yet as he woke, it was their images which filled his mind.

A Jedi who had not fallen could still regain his feet; one who had teetered on the edge of the abyss could rejoice in the feel of solid ground underfoot. Even a Jedi could be forgiven the rush of emotions that filled him and accompanied him in the transition from weary sleep to wary wakefulness: his heart could sing and his soul dance at so narrowly escaping such a dark fate.

He was awakening from a long nightmare.

The relief, the joy, the sheer exhilaration was dizzying, as if everything that had been long contained within him was dancing with the light and trying to burst free from his body – a rush as if the Living Force was filling him, only this feeling was inside, his spirit soaring free from the still-chained shell. His body might yet be enslaved, but that which was most important to him no longer was.

_Luminous beings we are_: he had never so felt the truth of Yoda's words as in that moment. _Luminous, not this crude matter. _

Love, Life, and Light. It could be nothing else that so warmed his soul and comforted his heart; flushed the poison from his mind to leave him nearly lightheaded in this half-awake, half-asleep state he was, transitioning from one state of consciousness to another.

It frightened him a little, the feeling that filled him, like something unleashed that he had carefully kept long shielded within him. It was invigorating, also, such a welcome balm after the hateful thoughts that had so threatened to consume him that he had been half-hoping to die before he was enslaved while yet still struggling to live free.

Now was not the time to reflect on this, however nor to bask in its warmth. Now was the time to take advantage of a clear mind and find the means to escape, for nothing was impossible, only difficult, for a Jedi in command of his own mind.

The joyous tumult within him slowly subsided as Sleep's fingers slowly loosened their hold onto the man, handing his mind back to his awakening body. Regretfully a Force ghost knew it was time to do the same.

_As you love the Light, the Light loves you. It is what lies at your core and is what allowed you to defeat the darkness. When the time is right, you will remember what you hold within you. You found the courage once to free your heart; one day you will find that courage again. That day, my Obi-Wan, that day you will have achieved far more than I ever dared to dream on your behalf. _

A Force ghost brushed a kiss across the man's brow as wispy arms reluctantly let go of the man cradled within their embrace. _I have not the strength to reach your ears nor your heart yet; nor are you yet ready to hear me, but someday, padawan mine, someday you will be able to hear what I say to you now and wish I had told you when I was alive: I am proud of you, so proud. _

_Now it is time to wake, to free yourself and your companion – know I will be with you, always, but there are others yet living who need you and love you as you do them. Return to them – and with them, you will rediscover your heart and heal. __It is not our time yet to be reunited, as someday I hope we shall._

Eyelids trembled and blinked as warmth slowly faded into coolness, somnolence into alertness. As cleansed as Obi-Wan now felt, scrubbed clean internally if not externally, now was not the time to reflect on success, or to bask in the resulting warmth. Now was the time to take advantage of a clear mind and find the means to escape, for nothing was impossible, only difficult, for a Jedi in command of his own mind.

Obi-Wan woke with that knowledge, but also with the knowledge of how close the tendrils of darkness had come to placing chains upon his mind to match those upon his body.

Shame twisted his face under the mask – he had almost believed – almost bought the lies, the deception, and the promises. It was no excuse that his mind had been battered and assaulted worse than his body, the voices shredding his shields and insinuating themselves into the darkest recesses of his unconscious – for the voices had only found and exploited his own weaknesses, dragging the dark demons out of the shadows and giving them voice.

_No, Obi-Wan, you think you are finding the courage to face a terrible truth, but you are wrong. Demons come from without as well as within. I pray the Force leads one who loves you to free you of this quite unreasonable fear of what you think you harbor within you._

Resolutely, the Jedi pushed that emotion away; he would have to deal with the shame later. He now had freedom of choice: to be what he wished to be regardless of what he was capable of being. To be a Jedi was to behave like one and not dwell on what had already taken place – not of how close he had come or even how he had ultimately succeeded in freeing his mind – thinking neither of love nor of shame – but of survival.

Of escape.

He had only found freedom of his mind and soul; not yet that of his body.

Clouded mentally by weeks of pain and abuse, he wasn't surprised that he had no memory of the battle for his soul. He had no memory – none - of how he had defeated the mask's ability to twist the Force within him; he knew only that he had. Victory had taken everything he had – and given him back everything he valued but one – the Force itself.

Somehow, he knew as well that Ventress no longer blocked his Force access, only the mask and his own bodily weakness did. Ventress had counted on the mask to keep the Force at bay, not unexpectedly – no Force user would willingly expend so much energy on blocking another when another means was at hand.

His mind was free of dark despair, dark emotion, of darkness itself – but also free from the soothing touch of the Force, _his_ Force, though it almost seemed as if the Force had touched him once during the battle, soothing his hurts and bathing his mind in light – somehow able to reach him though he could not reach it.

Perhaps it had, for he felt stronger than he had in long weeks, even the agonies of his body now muted to aches and pains, though he didn't know how the Force could touch him if he was unable to touch it in return.

A sense of peace even now lingered within him as if the Force had wrapped him in its soothing embrace - as if his mind had been caressed and his hurts soothed by the gentle touch of the still-absent Force. He almost could have sworn he had slept in the comforting embrace of arms, not hanging uncomfortably from shackles, felt warm and soft lips against his all too dry and cracked ones, and felt too-long taut arm muscles re-adjust to the weight of his body when they had last wrapped around another who had held him just as close.

A peace that even now he would have to sacrifice – for freedom, in one final battle, he realized.

That battle itself might still scar his soul; that battle would now demand he shut another out of his thoughts. To save Alpha, to save himself, he had now to abandon Alpha to suffer in lonely silence while he focused only on what needed to be done to affect their escape.

Focus only on escape - and that would mean ignoring everything else and everyone else. Ventress, Aidus - Alpha, as well.

Alpha would have to stand alone, while Obi-Wan fought the last battle – for them both.

His choice, his need, his duty. Perhaps his salvation; perhaps his damnation and perhaps, just perhaps, his path to redemption.

He had never really paid attention to his own torture, his focus inward, lost in pain, trying to hang onto Jedi serenity under duress, to retain both his humanity and his sanity during the long, agonizing days preceding. He had not focused on his own pain as he fought the mask, either, not with Alpha suffering before him and claiming what attention he could offer. Now he could no longer pay attention to the suffering of another – not if he wished to free them both.

Before this, he had tried, despite the mask, to whisper a breath of Force across Alpha's wounds from time to time, the pain excruciating when the backlash screamed up his nerves. He could no longer do so, minimal as the offered pain relief had been.

He had to focus on what needed to be done, not on the one who had stood beside him and taken so much punishment on his behalf.

He had been steadily working on one means of physical escape, exerting what muscle he could from almost the very day of wakening to chains. Had he full command of the Force, not blocked by injury and Ventress's shields, he would have succeeded weeks past. Now it was imperative he succeed; time was running out.

A Jedi master would not be easily thwarted, and so Obi-Wan would first claim his name and his mind and keep trying: painfully struggling to reach his source of strength without diminishing his human self too severely in the process. Each day he would fight for his own strength was a day he would let Alpha weaken.

It would not be easy or painless, for the mask still fought any attempt to access the Force. It just no longer twisted it.

Alpha would have to suffer alone; he had to detach himself from his companion's pain in order to seek escape for them both. Escape through muscle, or escape through the Force, perhaps both, whichever first freed them from their chains.

A slight rustle, a hoarse cough broke the silence as Obi-Wan prepared to face his second battle – this one for freedom itself.

It had been silent, far too silent, for far too long – a silence so loud it drowned out fear.

After a soft exhalation of breath some hours ago, Kenobi had gone utterly limp and not spoken again. Until he had finally found refuge in sleep himself, Alpha worried: had that final soft "ah" been his general's recognition of his final release, relief at escaping a life that held nothing but pain?

The Jedi had been attempting something difficult, considering his final words of "may the Force be with us both." Perhaps it had not been merely difficult, but deadly for one already abused and injured, for his body had perceptibly trembled and tensed for some time before that seeming "last breath," as if some vast internal struggle had been too large to retain internally.

Soft whispers of "General? Sir – sir, are you okay – General Kenobi," had brought no response throughout Alpha's vigil. Worry and exhaustion had allowed sleep to finally claim him.

So a rustle, a sigh brought Alpha to immediate wakefulness, a grin on his face as he looked over at the wakening man. Much to his relief, the Jedi seemed far more responsive and alert, for he immediately looked at Alpha and asked how he felt, in a voice both clear and steady.

"I'm fine, but -sir – you really had me worried - I thought perhaps you had died doing whatever you were trying to do."

"You did?" There was genuine puzzlement in Kenobi's voice. "I've had it easy compared to you - how do _you_ feel?"

"Like I was run over by a light cruiser, blasted by air cannons and thrown onto a planet's surface from just inside the gravity well. I'm sure you feel no better, correct?"

"That is – an acceptable – diagnosis," the Jedi even managed a weak chuckle. "Still, that is far better than I've been feeling to date. I actually feel far more alive than I have in – who knows how long. I feel almost dizzy with, well, relief. My mind – is now mine to command."

The last sentence was barely above a whisper, as if Kenobi wanted to be sure that Ventress had no means of overhearing it, be it sensors or com device. Alpha let his grin speak his understanding. The grin he got back heartened him considerably. General Kenobi was back to fighting strength.

In Alpha's mind, that meant one thing was certain. They would escape this hell – and soon.

* * *

The Force was silent now, carrying neither visions nor answers to one who sought either or both. Siri Tachi leaned back against her pillow, wide-awake and of a firm belief that what had seemed a dream had been anything but one. Her ears, not just her heart, had heard the whisper of her name as she studied a datapad; fighting sleep.

_Siri_. It was said with so much tenderness she had closed her eyes to savor it – and felt a drop as if a tear, one from her heart, returned to her keeping, a promise to return in sparking crystal.

Opening heavy lids, she had seen a familiar face bent to hers and her arms instinctively reached out and felt cool flesh that warmed under her fingers even as _his_ stiff fingers cupped her face and thumbs brushed her cheeks. Her hands had drifted from his shoulders to sweep through lank and drooping strands of hair as she had lifted her face to his and the kiss had tingled all the way down to her toes as no dream ever had or ever could. It had been too real to be a dream. Dreams were visual, never tactile, no matter how realistic.

She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the sensation… her heart refusing to let the memory of touching Obi-Wan fade away. When their lips had seemed to meet, her heart had seemed to melt as if for one eternal second their souls had linked. She _knew_ the Force had enfolded them both in a place neither _here_ nor _there_, though such was impossible.

Just as the dreams of being together, lying in each other's arms always ended with her waking alone, feeling incomplete because _he_ was not with her and never had been, it seemed cruel of the Force to let her imagine that for one brief moment their hearts had connected as it had seemed their lips had.

Perhaps they were destined to be lovers who never touched, even in dreams - yet just to be gifted with such love was perhaps enough. Perhaps the dreams ended when they did because the dreams were one-sided; unable to be fulfilled because whatever love she had for Obi-Wan was not reciprocated in kind.

Perhaps…possibly…perchance.

Yet perhaps the dreams were never truly fantasy, either, for perhaps reality was destined someday to transcend even dreams – perhaps when they would be united in the Force after physical death - bound together for eternity by a love that transcended the physical plane to that of the nearly spiritual.

Or perhaps the Force had seen fit to grant them this moment in this life, a promise of a future to be.

Had love transcended space and time, then? Had Love bridged the abyss that even the Force itself could not alone?

Was it possible Obi-Wan could not himself touch the Force – but the Force itself could touch him, and thus the Force had connected them for that brief moment, to allow healing energy to flow from one to the other?

The Force had always guided them both; she would now hope it would guide her love to one in desperate need of something other than pain, whether he was aware of it or not. She hoped her love would strengthen and sustain him until the day he returned home, to those who needed him: his padawan, his Order, and the woman who loved him.

And for a moment, she dared to wonder why her heart was touched with hope and love, when Anakin's mind was touched with pain and agony. As much as she wished to share this with him, she dared not – not in detail – not the wash of affection and completeness when all he had felt was despair and horror.

When sleep finally claimed her; she slept – with a soft smile on her face and new hope within her heart.

* * *

"Are you a betting man, general?"

Kenobi looked surprised for a moment; the quirk of his lip betrayed what was otherwise hidden behind the mask. "No. Why?"

"With you half way back to fighting strength, I'd say the odds have shifted in our favor."

"Alpha. Never tell me the odds," Kenobi reproved gently. "Do – or do not is what I was taught, odds notwithstanding. I might have one or two tricks up my," he grinned suddenly, "non-existent sleeves. I have only defeated one aspect of the mask – yes, my mind is free of the darkness - but it still keeps me from accessing the Force. I am attempting to overcome that as well – while I, uh, continue my purely physical exertions to free us by more mundane means. One venue of escape is as good as another."

There was no need to discuss what attempts Kenobi was referring to. Neither of them knew if they were being monitored; they were careful in how they spoke, but Alpha knew his general too well not to know what he spoke of. There were sounds, grunts of exertion from the man as of muscle straining to dislodge something.

"Considering the shape you seemed to be in, are you recovered enough?"

"We'll see," was the cheery response. A little softer, a little grimly, "If I waited for that – we'd never be free."

"Perhaps," Alpha conceded. To cover the tiny grunts and groans he continued speaking. He was also genuinely curious how the Jedi had gone from looking half-dead and nearly defeated to one who seemed in full control of himself in the span of mere hours.

"You sound more like yourself now, general. You really seemed to be breaking from everything Ventress heaped on you – not that I blame you, considering what she's done to you, but I've never heard you so angry in my life – spitting mad, I'd say. In fact, I've never seen a Jedi in such a rage before. That was a damn good act."

If shame and contrition could be expressed in a tilt of a head, Obi-Wan did so, his voice suddenly heavy and soft. "It was no act, I'm afraid. I was…furious – I had lost control and the consequences could have been quite grave, not just for myself. I apologize."

"For what?" It had been rather alarming to witness, it was true, considering the man's normally restrained personality; it had shown Alpha that even a Jedi could only be pushed so far without starting to crack.

"Losing control for a Jedi is – dangerous, Alpha," Obi-Wan finally replied. It was always difficult to explain why anger, fear, and hate – normal human emotions – were so dangerous to someone Force sensitive.

"The danger is less the actual emotion than the danger of acting under its impulse, having one's decisions influenced by such. Imagine the Force unleashed in a moment of anger, as an offensive weapon. In the hands of a Force user who has not learned to harness his emotions – the consequences can be devastating. We all experience such emotions, but have been trained to immediately release them for both our own good and for the good of others – to listen to them but not be directed by them."

He spoke from his own experience. Rage had given his arms strength, his feet speed, and his blows power after witnessing his master being struck down on Naboo – and the same had seen him lose focus and nearly die. Only the realization of what emotions drove him had allowed him to release those emotions and center himself in the Force, had allowed him to survive and to ease his master's last moments.

"Emotions need to be allied with one's mind – to do what is right rather than what feels right. When misused, whether in anger or fear – one has allowed Darkness to swallow Light – and someone is inevitably hurt. A Jedi seeks always to help, never to hurt."

"Ah, explainingVentress – she is driven by hate." Alpha was beginning to understand. Whatever had set her on the path she pursued; it had made her cruel beyond his capacity to comprehend.

"As I might have become given enough time," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice haunted with the memory of how close he had come for a second time in his life. He had teetered on the abyss, the outcome uncertain, and somehow – somehow, he had managed not to fall in and drown in the darkness. "Now perhaps you see why…I preferred to die rather than become like her and made the request I did of you, though I knew the cost to you – it was something I had no right to ask, but had every need to."

With a sudden shift in demeanor that never failed to surprise Alpha, the Jedi drew a deep breath and released what memories seemed to still trouble him even now.

"Tell me, have you noticed any patterns in our existence?"

"We hurt, we recover as best we can," Alpha grunted. "Okay, okay, general – detailed pattern. Food and water, followed approximately a few hours later, my guess, by Ventress and/or Aidus. After they have beaten us senseless, they leave and we try to recover."

"Mmm," Obi-Wan murmured. "The guard – have you noticed a pattern there?"

"Unlocks the door, stands to the side, follows Ventress and Aidus out and locks the door," was Alpha's prompt response.

"Yes, that has been my observation when I've been capable of noticing. Good."

"You have an idea?"

"Perhaps," was the enigmatic reply. "I know our binders are Force-shielded so even with the Force I cannot manipulate the clasp. But perhaps…perhaps there is another way, now that I think about it."

A prickle of something – hope? - half-stiffened Alpha's spine. "Sir?"

"An idea. One battle is over; one or more remain and that battle is mine alone. I doubt I can succeed before Ventress returns, though perhaps the next time. You will have to battle…your own battles for now, alone. I hope – I hope in time you will come to understand why I – seemingly must abandon you as Ventress…."

"Forgive me," a quick whisper interrupted what the Jedi had been trying to say; for the door was opening even as he spoke.

A warning of sorts, perhaps a plea for understanding for something yet to take place. Kenobi had something in mind, something that would take all his focus and concentration. At the moment, Alpha knew only a quiet relief. The Jedi was again in control of his own mind, if not his Force.

It seemed that his general thought whatever plan he was pursuing would seem a betrayal of his companion. Alpha knew the Jedi better than to believe such a thing. Whatever Kenobi was attempting or had in mind had his full support, not his condemnation.

With the Jedi now silent and detached, focused inwards, Alpha prepared to face Ventress and Alpha as their tormenters stepped through the open doorway. Before any one of them could speak, Kenobi raised his head and snarled.

"You're almost consumed aren't you, my little Jedi," Ventress purred, smiling. "What words do you fling at me today – or are they mere screams? You are so nearly mine now – shall this day finally see Kenobi ready to kneel at my feet?"

The guard opened the door for Ventress and Alpha, his hand automatically going to his side, only to pat his pockets in dismay. Blood drained from his face; he glanced at Ventress; she swept past without a glance, exulting in the knowledge that the light that still flickered in Kenobi was dim and shortly to be extinguished.

The wrath of a Jedi so ignited would destroy any Jedi – and Kenobi was all but consumed.

The guard shifted from foot to foot uneasily, checking the floor by his feet, the door, his eyes finally scrutinizing the prisoners. One of the two prisoners hung limply, again unconscious. The other one was still twisting and snarling like a caged beast tormented beyond endurance.

_Nah._ He shook his head. _No way_. For just a moment his eyes made full contact with the raving one. He licked his lips and slowly turned and left, shutting the door behind him, as curses continued to spill from the Jedi.

Slowly, the broken screams faded into gasps and pants.

A string of colorful Huttese curse words mixed with some imaginative threats slowly faded away. Ventress was gloating, her words to Aidus fading with her footsteps: of victory within grasp, Kenobi soon proven weak and unworthy of a Sith's regard. Rage had consumed him; he just hadn't realized it yet.

Alpha cracked open one eye: a guard eyed them both, tension clear in his posture. After a moment, he turned and left, and the door swung shut with a heavy thud. He cracked open the second eye and waited for the stream of invective to die away, somewhat awed and not a little concerned.

After several minutes of silence, Alpha cautiously spoke after wiggling his jaw and checking to make sure he still had all his teeth.

"I'm impressed, general. I've never heard you use language like that. Did your padawan teach you those words?"

"Not on purpose," the Jedi admitted with a bit of a cough. "He had quite the vocabulary when he was young; he has a much better grasp on such language than I ever had. Huttese lends itself quite well to such, ah, profanity. Do you think Ventress bought it?"

Alpha snorted. "Sir, I almost bought it. I especially liked it when you threatened to cut Ventress's heart out – nice touch, that, if blood-thirsty for a Jedi, though using 'eviscerating' rather than 'ripping her heart out' shows off your education more than your lust for blood. I rather liked the tears of pain and outrage you managed."

"They were real…as was the pain," the Jedi muttered. "A small price to pay in the end should I succeed at this, but it is – quite agonizing. I do believe we shall shortly be free."

"I bet your padawan will still find a way to claim this."

"Oh, undoubtedly. A soft bed, a decent meal, and uninterrupted sleep is all he has to offer, and I'd be happy to let him claim he rescued us." Kenobi sighed, breathing out the tension and pain from what had preceded.

After a while, Kenobi raised his head as his pants for breath ceased and suggested Alpha try to rest until roused. Whatever the Jedi was in the midst of, it was something only he could do. Alpha did as asked; he closed his eyes and tried to find respite in sleep until called upon for whatever assistance he could provide.

What Obi-Wan was attempting was without doubt painful. Ventress had bought the curses and tears of pain masquerading as tears of anger, thinking they came from witnessing her latest assault on Alpha. Instead they were a cover for his very real attempt to reach past the mask's Force-twisting properties. He had left Alpha to face Ventress alone as he focused only upon his own need.

"Ah." Relief and satisfaction colored the hoarse voice. The soft exclamation, brief as it was, woke Alpha and brought his head up in relief.

In the dim light, the mask hid the quiet determination and faint hint of relief on the Jedi's face. He could feel it, minutes away.

Freedom – was now within his grasp.

Alpha tensed, for he knew that "ah" as a soft sound of success. He hadn't realized how much part of him had feared the end was nearing for them both. He was right, though in a way he had never once suspected and one that was far more welcome.

"Alpha, don't you… think we've… overstayed our welcome as guests? I believe…the time has come to leave this place." The Jedi's voice was assured, stronger than it had sounded in a long time. It held a quiet certainty that spoke volumes. He nodded, and satisfaction underlay his words, mixed with calm relief.

"The means is at hand," and his voice held a long absent lilt, the one that usually accompanied an enigmatic grin. "I believe…I can hold onto the Force long enough to free you, which will enable you to rip this mask off me, and then we'll be on our way."

A tingle of electricity stiffened Alpha's spine, and he wondered if this was the sensation of relief, perhaps even hope. He still didn't understand emotion, but he was learning, just as he had somewhat grasped the concept of humor.

"Give a trooper some warning, would you, general? Give me some time to pack my things, at least."

A truly amused chuckle, followed by a weak cough, met his sally. "We don't have anything, Alpha. We will need weapons, and I suppose, clothing. We will… look less conspicuous clothed - though I doubt droids would… notice one way or the other."

"Just how do you propose to free us?"

"Ridding ourselves of the binders with a little use of the Force…," was the puzzling response.

"The Force – by Aidus's black heart – why didn't you use the Force earlier?"

"I haven't been at full strength at any time," Obi-Wan reminded Alpha quietly, "and the Force alone won't free us. It is, however, the key to our escape."

"Are you always this hard to make sense of? The Force will free us, and yet it alone will not? Do you have full command of your Force – now?" Alpha clearly sounded skeptical.

"Er, no," the Jedi admitted. "But Ventress is no longer blocking my use and I have fought my way to limited access to it, but for seconds only."

"Then just how do you propose to free us? "Alpha demanded.

"You will see in a moment," Obi-Wan replied with a hint of a laugh in his tone.

No doubt the Jedi would explain soon enough, so Alpha wasn't about to waste time asking for the details.

"Are you strong enough?" Alpha had to ask. No matter Kenobi's cheerful voice, he heard the underlying exhaustion and pain that colored the voice. He might dredge the strength from somewhere to do what had to be done, but once their escape was secured, he was bound to collapse.

Obi-Wan wondered if he was fooling Alpha at all. He was far from fighting shape, but he had little choice in the matter. Now – now freedom was at hand, and now was the time he needed to be strong enough.

Now - now when he could finally access the Force long enough to free Alpha, and for Alpha to then free him, he needed to be strong enough. With the thought, came the answer Alpha sought.

"I will be." He would be. The Force would give him the strength. He needed only enough to free Alpha; then the rest would follow. Not strong, no, just strong enough.

To a certain extent, Obi-Wan had been able to sink into a state of mind where all the various cruelties and indignities wreaked on him didn't touch him, at least in the beginning. Such detachment had not lasted long; the connections between mind and body were too deep and intricate for it to be otherwise, but it had bought him some time to husband some strength deep inside where not even Ventress could reach. He had hoped for a chance to escape, a rescue, something to come along before he got mired in the pain, before he needed to pull on what was, in short, his very essence.

A means of escape had not presented itself; the pain and the wounds binding him in place as much as the chains had done for his physical self. Then had come the ultimate horror for a Jedi committed to the light, one willing to die before turning, preferring the darkness of death in the light of the Force over the dark of living in evil - the Sith mask.

Such an abomination had never been heard of, as far as Obi-Wan knew: no method of defeating it apparent. It had nearly done what Ventress had been unable to accomplish: turn the Force into a weapon stripping the Jedi nearly of his life and of his sanity beforehand.

His instinctive reaction had been resistance, but resistance had only intensified the mask's effects. Still he fought until his natural human instincts were overwhelmed - had fought bitterly until, exhausted, his Jedi instincts to _let go_ and _absorb_ the blow took command. That much he remembered, but little more.

It had been a dual battle: first to defeat the darkness twisting his mind and heart, then to fight to access the Force that was his strength. So little by little, he had let his mind move the merest amount toward the Force and freeze in position as the mask began its feedback loop. At first he could not manage even a few seconds at once; he needed to adapt to the pain ever so slowly as well as fight the specter of insanity.

His own screams unnerved him; screams torn from him that he had no power to restrain, screams thrust upon him by the touch of the Force itself. His greatest ally had become his greatest enemy.

And then, lost in perversions of evil – he had stopped struggling for the Force and merely struggled, all attempts to free himself lost in agony as he sought only to retain his soul and more than willing to die if should that be the price of freedom.

Now that he had found a way to cleanse himself of filth and poison, he would ignore the deep thrusts of red-hot pokers in his mind, the sense of something _crushing_ his skull from the inside out for he was free at last from unnamed fears and terrors – for they, at least, had ceased to have power over him.

The last had not been mere threats, but a real possibility, and so he had fought to subdue them as the first price of entry to what he treasured most. He would walk through fire and upon water, he would endure anything and suffer anything, to access the Force and once again make it his ally.

Acclimatize and desensitize – to reach the Force he had to accept the very real pain and build his tolerance to it, to get beyond it, to get to the Force.

In his first attempts the feel of the Force was weak and he had trouble holding onto it; it trickled like water from between cupped hands and sifted like grains of sand from the same. Like flying droplets from a waterfall splashing into an otherwise tranquil pool, the Force would ghost a touch against that part of him that fell into it, and for a few precious seconds or more he could let it whisper against his injuries. It could not heal them, but it could soothe them and keep them from consuming him.

Now the day had come when it all had to come together. Now. He had strength enough for what was necessary; he would soon be too weak. This was the apex of the struggle; his success would see them free or his failure guarantee that they never would be.

What little Force access he would gain would free them.

Alpha had bought them – him – time. Alpha's endurance made escape possible.

Thirty beats of his heart to freedom. Thirty beats before agony crushed him. Thirty beats to live or to fail. Thirty beats of Light…thirty beats as of _now_.

_Focus, there is nothing but the Force…there is no pain, there is only the Force…there is _no _pain_…and the Force was there waiting for him, skittish like a half-tamed animal, needing a gentle touch that would allow it to come to one…. Obi-Wan asked it to obey his command, felt the Force sluggishly respond and heard the first sudden click, followed by a soft clink of binders clattering against stone. He held himself still in the Force as it slid away from him, slid back, before his next push and again binders hit the floor.

Alpha fell to his knees on the stone, wincing.

Twenty-three beats: sweat beaded on his face. Twenty-six: another clink. Twenty-nine, thirty.

Thirty one beats…he couldn't hold it and the scream was building within him….

Alpha was already scrambling to his feet and on his way to his general. Darkness beckoned; the faint light faded as his eyes drifted shut…his will forced him to hang on.

Thirty-three beats ….he couldn't hold it any longer – and the last binder fell away.

He was free; he was falling. Obi-Wan let go of the Force before his mind ripped under the assault. The flesh had failed; the will of a Jedi was forcing him to stay upright…

…Alpha was there to catch him as he collapsed, his breath catching in his throat. Pain… oh, how it hurt…hurt so badly he could barely breathe.

"The mask, remove the mask," he implored as Alpha lowered him to the ground, fighting to hold on to consciousness. It resisted Alpha's touch like a living thing, clinging and loath to be removed, and Obi-Wan could feel hair ripping from his beard and skull, feeling like tendrils of evil were being ripped from his very cells and then – the light of the Force sought him out, flooded his being and Obi-Wan felt like laughing, or crying, or both at once.

The Force was enemy no more.

With the mask twisting the Force, Ventress had removed her own blocks long before and now only Obi-Wan's strength affected his grasp.

Dry heaves shook his body for longer than he liked, but the convulsions of his stomach would not be denied. The effort expended had almost torn him into pieces – if he had not succeeded, had hung on any longer – he felt he would have been torn to atoms.

He buried his face in his hands as he tried to assimilate all this, feeling both strong and weak, breathed deeply as he pulled its strength into him, for he had little of his own left.

"You okay, general?" Alpha's hand was on his shoulder, the face concerned.

"I'm fine…I haven't felt so strong in a long while," he replied, pulling the Force around him as he shakily stood up and wavered on unsteady legs. "Okay, Alpha, here's where the fun begins." He flashed his trademark grin, a mere ghost of its former self, but present all the same. It brought a return grin from Alpha.

"You have a plan?"

He chuckled. "Open the door and run," he admitted, doing his best to work out the kinks, the pins and needles sensation of returning circulation to long unused muscles as Alpha did the same.

"Sounds like a plan to me – one of your padawan's plans," Alpha breathed. The two exchanged tight smiles, and Obi-Wan merely shrugged.

He limped over to the door and with a grin, looked at Alpha – and pushed. Sudden light spilled over the Jedi, highlighting the sparkle in his eyes. "How nice of them to leave it open. Come on, time to leave," he invited.

Obi-Wan was beyond grateful not to have to use the Force on the cell door; the less he drew on it, the better, for while the Force would never weaken, he needed to be conservative in its use so as not to overtax his body. He would eventually push himself too far, and when that happened, he had best be safe back amongst Republic forces.

Alpha looked over at his general with sudden understanding. The binders were Force-shielded, but still subject to normal manipulation; their means of escape clasped not in hands of flesh but Force.

"I gather the guard was weak-minded," Alpha said solemnly, only now realizing just what the guard's glazed eye look had meant upon his departure. With a half-smile of amusement, he glanced at the small item that had caught his eye: their means of freedom.

"That, or his fear of Ventress's reaction; regardless I was able to take advantage." With a moue of distaste, Obi-Wan rummaged through the rotting remnants of their clothing, finding nothing of value but one. Closing his eyes in relief, he wound the pouch's drawstring around the palm of his hand. He would not leave this, not willingly. He picked up the other item and looked at it, shaking his head.

"The key to any escape is planning," Obi-Wan said with a grin – and with a negligent flick of his wrist sent the Force-purloined key skittering into a corner.

They stepped out of their cell.


	29. In Silence Cries of the Heart Are Heard

_I'm easily the equal of half the Council, stronger than most knights and still – still – I'm just a padawan who has to shut up and follow orders_, Anakin thought resentfully, long strides quickly carrying him away from the scene of his latest defeat. _The Chancellor trusted me to save the remainder of the troops, but the Council does not trust my instincts._

It was easy for Anakin to forget that Master Mundi had advised him weeks before that instincts were not always correct, especially for one still a padawan, and the knowledge to recognize this was one of the things distinguishing a padawan from a knight.

Still weary from battle and by now used to command and independence by virtue of having been the highest ranking Jedi left on Jabiim before its fall, Anakin found it hard to adjust to being "just a padawan," taking it hard when the Council assigned him to the temporary custody of another master.

His respect for the Council, never high, had never been lower. Blind, obstinate fools far more interested in maintaining the status quo than taking any decisive action – content to move lives around as if they were mere game pieces on a board and never once thinking of the pieces as actual living, breathing, suffering beings. They dared to hope the padawan was right about his master, but too distrustful to allow him any real chance of saving the man they hoped was alive.

One day Obi-Wan would be found, most likely dead hours before rescue, and the Council would sadly cluck their dismay while smugly pointing out their actions or lack of had nothing to do with the Jedi master's untimely demise. Force help the Council should that come to pass, for the wrath of the "Chosen One" would be given free reign.

Mace Windu distrusted him; he accepted that, railed against it, yet he at least recognized it, much as it irritated him. Yoda and Adi Gallia seemed inclined to offer him at least a modicum of respect as befitted a Jedi with a destiny, but Ki-Adi-Mundi, now – he truly didn't know.

His pedantic manner hid personal dislikes and likes, his pronouncements and questions always came across a bit sharp yet obviously came after much thought and shed much light on many issues. He had a far more aloof personality than his own master, though he and Obi-Wan had a number of traits in common – especially the need to lecture. At least Obi-Wan usually limited his lectures to his own Learner.

No doubt about it, he was going to have find Obi-Wan – and soon, for both their sakes.

He didn't know how much more could he take, from the sympathetic words of those Jedi who dared to approach him and of those who tried to console him with reassuring words that his master had found peace in the Force.

He didn't know how much more his master could take – he had suffered so much more than any being should be forced to suffer and his suffering continued. Already a tiny part of Anakin hoped his master had found peace in death, and as much as the thought horrified him, the thought of his continued agonies as he fought to live also horrified him.

Next to all that, the Council's treatment of him and his resulting, justified, anger seemed rather petty in comparison.

They had slighted, demeaned, and belittled their own "Chosen One." It was an insult, but he was too exhausted and concerned for his master to spend much energy worrying about the Council's continuing refusal to knight him.

He _knew_ he deserved to be knighted. He was more than a match for any knight he knew and the equal of many a master. Soon he would be the equal of Mace and Yoda at the rate his power was growing, and would probably far surpass them by the time he was the age his master had been at his knighting.

If, however, the Council continued to push his promotion aside, Obi-Wan Kenobi was the only one he wanted as his master. He didn't want anyone in charge of his destiny but himself, but failing that, there was only one man, one Jedi he would accept.

If Qui-Gon Jinn had set young Anakin's feet on the path, it had been Obi-Wan Kenobi who had guided his first steps and stood at his side. Even now, standing behind him and watching his padawan walk forward, somehow his presence was always there at his side. Anakin would soon leave him far behind, but at least part of the journey had been together.

He had been gratified when the Chancellor had contacted him shortly after his return and asked to see him. The Chancellor was a busy man, far too busy to visit for no reason other than personal desire, but the man who had always been as an uncle to him made time for him. Palpatine valued him, and not because he was the "Chosen One," or the "Hero Without Fear," or because Anakin served some purpose.

Palpatine valued Anakin Skywalker.

It was an unconditional acceptance of who he was, not what he was, that was lacking with the Jedi. Palpatine saw beyond the myths and the prophecy, perhaps cared not one whit about them. He cared about the boy who had left the only home he had known and grown into a weapon wielded by the Jedi.

It was Palpatine who saw his value as a person and was not afraid to say so, who acknowledged his strengths and recognized his talents. It was Palpatine who knew Anakin was stronger than most Jedi and at least as capable as most knights and many masters, and Palpatine who didn't hesitate to state his view that Anakin was long past his due to be recognized as a man, a knight, within the Order that still saw him as a padawan in need of guidance and training.

The Jedi Council would not listen to either Padawan Skywalker or Chancellor Palpatine, it seemed, on Anakin's preparedness and abilities, and it was the Council who assigned him to another master not long before the two were assigned to work with Adi Gallia and Plo Koon against pirates taking advantage of the Jedi's preoccupation with waging war rather than peace keeping.

For a Jedi who always had seemed somewhat remote and unsympathetic, Ki-Adi-Mundi tried his best to be understanding of the unconventional padawan, who insisted against all logic that his master was alive. Anakin had given up arguing his viewpoint; his opinion seemed of little merit.

The disastrous campaign on Jabiim had for a time overwhelmed his feelings of dread about Obi-Wan's fate, so that he could not discern one dread from another horror. Out of necessity, he had strengthened his mental shields at night, but shields only kept outside influences away. It didn't keep him from worrying. It didn't keep memories at bay. It didn't keep dreams of Obi-Wan calling for his help away.

He at least, had a few treasured nights with his wife while on leave, for leave allowed him time that he did not need to account for. He avoided his quarters as much as possible, for the dusty and empty silence there was only a poignant reminder of what was missing. Home just wasn't home without his master, it was just a space.

Had it seemed that way when Obi-Wan had returned home from Naboo, young Anakin in tow, and first faced the quarters filled with reminders of the Jedi who would never return?

Perhaps that was why Obi-Wan's hand had tightened around Anakin's hand so hard it hurt, and why all expression had been wiped off that quiet face.

'I'll fix us something to drink," he had said, letting Anakin wander the quarters and explore the area for himself. It hadn't taken long. He returned to find Obi-Wan frozen in the kitchen, staring at a packet of tea.

"Obi-Wan?" he had asked, a bit tentative, not sure if the Jedi even heard him. "Master?"

"It will be ready in a minute," a reply finally came, in that soft lilting voice that Anakin liked best about his master. He had rarely seen any real emotion in the young man – some anger in the Council chamber, hurt silence in the ship on the way to Naboo, restrained and barely obvious grief at Qui-Gon's funeral – but the voice was expressive, human even when the padawan – no, knight, now – seemed not to be.

Anakin thought it more likely that Obi-Wan meant "he" would be ready in a minute. He saw Obi-Wan bring his hands up to his face and rub the heels of his hands across his eyes and distinctly heard a sniff. He didn't know why, but something in that kitchen, perhaps the tea, had made Obi-Wan sad, made him remember Qui-Gon.

The hands that had set a steaming cup of coca before him were steady and Obi-Wan's face was calm. Anakin thought perhaps he had only imagined that sniffle until he saw his new master blink hard, trapping any tears he might have shed.

Now back from Jabiim, minus his master, for the first time Anakin realized just how hard it had been on his master, why there had been so much silence and so little visible emotion. Obi-Wan had tried hard, but the quarters that had once been home hadn't seemed like home to him again for some time. Too many memories of Qui-Gon had haunted the place, just as now memories of Obi-Wan tried to haunt Anakin.

The only thing that made it remotely bearable for him to be here now was his certainty that Obi-Wan was still alive and would soon be coming back. He would only have to endure one night alone in these quarters, since he and his temporary master would be leaving early on a mission.

Pirates, outlaws and slavers had grown bolder and encroached deeper within the core worlds with the Jedi tied up fighting battles in the mid and outer rim planets. It was time to divert some resources to this growing threat before it became a real and unchecked menace.

Restless, Anakin wandered from room to room, and suddenly realized that one reason the place seemed so – empty – was because it wasn't filled with things. What filled the rooms was the two Jedi themselves, their squabbles, their laughter, and their quiet moments of study or reflection. Obi-Wan Kenobi, not his things, was what was absent and sorely missed.

Anakin paused at the open door to Obi-Wan's bedroom. Not much bigger than his own, it was light and airy, personalized mainly by a few holopics scattered around. Though he had seen them many a time before this, Anakin wandered over and studied them.

There were several of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan – one obviously shortly after the two bonded. Anakin could almost date the pictures by the length of Obi-Wan's braid and the gray in Qui-Gon's hair. Those earlier holopics showed a boy with a shy smile and a fierce intelligence, the master stern. Those of a few years later showed the affection that had developed: the master's hand on the padawan's shoulder, the poses more relaxed and confident, casual.

Those of the later years showed the quirky humor hiding within his master's eyes, a more serene and yet rakish air as Qui-Gon looked almost indulgent.

In many respects, those few holopics mirrored those of Obi-Wan and Anakin, with formal poses giving way to informal ones, of a beginning born in awkwardness and shared grief, through tumultuous times of bickering, easing into the easy camaraderie they now shared.

Scattered amongst them were several of Obi-Wan and his friends, almost all casual shots during the few carefree moments that padawans could always create out of nothing.

The only other personal item was a display box containing a lock of Qui-Gon's hair, Obi-Wan's padawan braid, and Qui-Gon's lightsaber. Anakin had made a frame and arranged them as a gift for his master one day long ago in a burst of appreciation for something Obi-Wan had done; he no longer remembered what.

The stunned look and almost reverent gaze Obi-Wan had bestowed on that simple gift was the greatest gift Obi-Wan had given him: absolute appreciation and delight; hands that shook ever so slightly as it traced the outlines of the display frame, the almost hitch in his breathing as his master had thanked him – all topped off by a totally spontaneous hug that had surprised them both.

"Someday, your braid will go in that spot," Obi-Wan said, pointing as he tugged gently on the braid. "Thank you, Padawan – I shall always treasure this."

As Obi-Wan had treasured the gift and the thought, Anakin had treasured the memory of his master's delight. Together, they had searched for just the right spot to hang it.

Ultimately it ended up opposite the bed where it was the first thing Obi-Wan would see upon waking, or so he had said, with a straight face and a brush of his hand through Anakin's short padawan haircut. The bond had been full of quiet happiness the rest of that day.

In all other respects, the room looked much the same as when Anakin first explored the quarters as a newcomer to the Jedi. Qui-Gon's massive furniture had been replaced with items on a smaller scale, polished wood in a light color that harmonized nicely with the cream walls.

The only splash of color was the comforter, a gift from Anakin to replace the old and worn one that Obi-Wan had kept for years, also in that same bright blue, his master's only concession that a palette of color existed outside of tan, brown and cream – that, and his brightly colored sleeping clothes. As a joke once, Anakin had given his master the wildest pair of sleep clothes he had been able to find. Seeing the humor in the gift, Obi-Wan had grinned and promised to wear them some special night.

Out of curiosity, Anakin opened the drawer and shook his head in silent amusement. Apparently the sleep clothes still awaited some special night that had not yet come.

"Master, master," he shook his head, a grin twitching at his lips. "You live far too clean a life, or at least far too boring nights. Of course I had barely discovered girls at the time I gave these to you, but by now, I would have thought _you_ would have."

Too bad they were sized for a shorter man than he. He could just picture wearing these to bed: Padme would giggle and tease him, and get him out of them as quick as possible to avoid the sight of the hideous things. He was tempted, but no. Let neatly folded sleeping clothes lie undisturbed for who knew how many more years.

He straightened up and turned around, his eyes falling on that so neatly made up bed, comforter in precise alignment and pillows so carefully placed, remembering his first sight of what had been Qui-Gon's bed, followed so shortly by its replacement.

The size had awed Anakin at first sight. He had thought it was large enough for two, or even more, like Qui-Gon's had been, both larger than anything Anakin had ever seen on Tatooine. Slaves were lucky to have a bed of their own; a nook as he had had on Tatooine before Qui-Gon Jinn had taken him away to be a Jedi.

A boy who had been a slave was worldly in a way that those more sheltered never were; knew many things a boy his age normally would not. Anakin had silently wondered why Obi-Wan's bed was large enough for two, when it never held but one, for celibacy among the Jedi was not a requirement, only something strongly encouraged. His master never seemed to have any of the normal human needs.

Anakin knew _it_ wasn't forbidden, though not encouraged, for Obi-Wan had given him "the talk" before long, once he felt comfortable enough around his new master to start asking questions.

The questions had been meant to see how far he could push the Jedi, not for enlightenment. Try as he might, Anakin had not been able to get Obi-Wan flustered on that subject, or any other, for that matter.

"No subject is off limits and Jedi can be blunt on many things, but a Jedi is expected to also practice restraint and tact in all conversations," Obi-Wan had interrupted one attempt to make him squirm with a direct and specific question, and then calmly given Anakin an answer.

Shortly after, he had excused himself and from the muffled sound of mixed laughter and consternation, Anakin could have sworn Obi-Wan had gone into the 'fresher for the sole purpose of hiding himself away from his padawan and further questions.

He had gotten a far more satisfying answer not long after, when the skies exploded into light and the sound of an explosion sent him scurrying in fear to his master's room in the middle of night, so apprehensive that he burst into the room and flew to his master's side without thought. Half of his answer was apparent upon his arrival: Obi-Wan slept sprawled all over the bed, arms out flung and his covers all twisted around him.

Even the arrival of a small boy in the form of a projectile hadn't rattled the sleeping Jedi, who merely cranked open an eye, grinned, and scraped the wide-eyed boy off his chest to plop him down next to him as he piled pillows behind them both.

"Scared?"

"Nah," Anakin denied vehemently, burying his head in his master's shoulder as the next explosion hit.

"I am," a solemn voice whispered in Anakin's ear.

"You're teasing me – you're never scared," Anakin mumbled.

"Am now – whoops, another big one," and Obi-Wan wrapped his arms tighter around his padawan, his eyes dancing with amusement despite the rude awakening so early in the morning. "I'm glad you're here, makes it less scary. Just don't let go, okay?"

It was just a little too casual, and a trace of enjoyment lighted the bond; Anakin pulled back to look at his master's face, but the face was as calm as ever – and that was the giveaway. He frowned at his master, but Obi-Wan only chuckled and settled back with his arm around his padawan's shoulder.

"Now you know – a master's bed is meant to be large enough for a master and a scared padawan," Obi-Wan informed him with a teasing grin playing around the edges of his lips at how Anakin's first thunder and rain storm had sent the boy from a desert planet scampering to his master's side in fear.

Now fear for his master's life had him in this same place, sitting on the bed and holding a pillow between his hands, trying desperately to get a sense of his master.

"Where are you, Master?" he muttered, not even noticing he had just about pulled the pillow apart. "I know you're still alive; I want to save you, but you're not helping me any – you aren't reaching out to me." It was easier to believe that, than that Obi-Wan couldn't reach for him.

He stretched out and curled around the pillow, hoping to find comfort in the memories of huddling within those surprisingly gentle arms, warm embrace, and soothing presence that he nearly forgotten with the passage of years, arguments, and a growing boy's embarrassment at such childish comfort. Soon, he relaxed and slept, there with his head against the pillow that still held a hint of his master's Force presence.

But a restful night's sleep was impossible. Reality, or the fear of it, intruded.

His feelings coalesced into vague feelings: of nightmarish pain, of screams and grunts until his own sleep was disturbed by nightmares that left him on the edge of tears and shaking. These were even more intense than his nightmares of his mother had been months prior. It only made Anakin sure that they were more than nightmares, traces of his master's pain somehow carrying through the still dormant bond or carried by the Force.

He didn't want his master's pain; he wanted to know how to end it – how to find his master. Answers came as did sleep; not at all.

Unable to sleep, needing to do something, anything, Anakin got up and did something he detested – he cleaned the apartment top to bottom, dusting, polishing, cleaning until everything shone fresh.

The last thing he did before leaving was lay out a fresh set of tunics on the bed to welcome Obi-Wan home. On top he laid the equipment case, first fingering the lettering and then looking up to whisper, "I'll bring him back soon, Master Qui-Gon. I promise your padawan will be safe," and almost felt a reassuring waft of the Force move around him; dismissing it as his own hopes.

Next time he saw this room, Obi-Wan would be back with his padawan standing beside him. It was a promise.

He left, shutting the door behind him without a backwards glance.

* * *

A renewed sense of hope warred with ever-present dread within the heart of Siri Tachi. The Force warmed her, centered where Obi-Wan's lips had brushed her: a promise not to lose hope, not to give up, not to stop loving.

Siri Tachi had never once thought of giving up. As for her love, it was part of who she was and would always be. She now knew that as she had never known anything but faith in the Force – the Force claimed her mind but Obi-Wan Kenobi claimed her heart. Both claims were eternal, to life's ending and beyond.

Ever since that moment – that waking dream – that the Force had found a way to connect each of them to the other, that moment enfolded within each other's arms as lips met for the first time, Siri knew regardless of the Order's view on relationships, the Force itself approved of their love for each other, or it would not granted that moment otherwise.

That knowledge did not lessen the confusion she felt, if anything, it heightened it. The Order frowned on relationships and outright forbade marriage and attachments. How could she reconcile her heart and her Order – what the Force approved and the Order discouraged?

It would be even harder for Obi-Wan – should he even feel the same, if the Force hadn't sought merely to ease her heart. He would never defy the Order unless the Force itself willed it, and the hearts of two Jedi were of little consequence to the Force. Jabiim had divided them physically and had united them in spirit – and Siri didn't know whether to laugh, to cry, or to curse at that.

She didn't want to break Obi-Wan's heart again – or her own. But she could remain silent no longer: he might leave her again, or she him, but they would never be separated again before she revealed her heart.

And then – she would trust in the Force to lead them on the proper path, and together or alone they would follow wherever it led.

* * *

A slight tremor in the Force had manifested itself just a day or so past as Yoda had been catching up on some Council work. He had put down his datapad and closed his eyes, delving deep within the Force and seeking to see what disturbed the gentle ebb and flow, but the current was warm and soothing yet almost glowing and pulsating with energy.

Intrigued, Yoda had probed deeper, but the current didn't open up to enclose him as usual, it was flowing like a river and he was on the bank looking into it but not partaking of it. It was a phenomenon like nothing he had ever experienced.

Just as the Force seemed to rise in a mighty wave before subsiding into its normal eddies and flows, Yoda almost – almost – thought he had sensed Obi-Wan Kenobi's presence, and not in the same way he sometimes thought he sensed hints of other long gone Jedi that he had known.

It was as if it was Obi-Wan he had sensed, the man himself, not fragments of who he had been while alive.

Could the young padawan be right? Knight Tachi, who believed no different?

It was impossible for the Jedi to have survived the blast that had killed so many on Jabiim. The Force itself could not have saved one in the middle of that fireball that had incinerated so many that nothing but dust and ashes were left to soak in the sodden ground.

Yet if Obi-Wan's padawan was right and the master had somehow survived, that meant that Yoda's visions and glimpses into the future that might come were still possible.

Nothing beyond the immediate moment was ever certain, whether one had glimpses or not. In his many years, Yoda had seen many visions of the future come to pass, and just as many fail to materialize quite as foreseen. Yet in no vision involving Master Kenobi had he ever failed to live to an age where his face was creased and worn, his eyes sad and wise under thinning white hair, and his soul as gentle as ever.

Yoda had first glimpsed that older man when he had first met the new crechling; he had been drawn to see the newest members of the Order not long after their arrival. The solemn not-quite-toddler had crawled over and grinned toothlessly up at the Jedi master, much to the Creche Master's amusement. Yoda had been drawn to the youngster from the first, thinking at first perhaps in many years the boy might be his last padawan, but the Force had other plans.

Still, Yoda couldn't deny that some kind of bond connected them. Whether the bond was born of shared destinies or simply of personalities that meshed well, he didn't know; just as he didn't know what destiny lay ahead for young Kenobi, a destiny now tied to another one with a destiny of his own: Qui-Gon Jinn's anointed "Chosen One."

Destinies were often tragic, sometimes noble. Destiny was for the uncommon and destiny was a burden not for the weak: to know destiny lay in that young child's future and the burden would be shouldered by that tiny soul troubled Yoda.

Destiny, it seemed, might still lay ahead for that long-ago child, now grown, the burdens no less but somehow far greater than ever dreamed. Yoda – could only wait and see if the Force hinted of truth, and if the Force would see to it that Obi-Wan Kenobi survived.

* * *

Anakin met Masters Mundi, Gallia and Koon in the hangar where their transport would take them to the Republic ship they would be based on. None commented on his red-rimmed eyes and pallor, though Adi Gallia stared at him thoughtfully.

As they were disembarking from the transport, Anakin felt Adi's hand on his arm, stopping him. He turned questioningly.

"Padawan – mind your focus." Adi seemed to mean something beyond the mere words. "It does no one good to look back – focus on the here and now. Keep your attention on what is happening now and let the Force guide you to the proper action."

Before Anakin could process her words, she moved on to rejoin the other two masters. She had not been calling his attention to the here and now; no reprimand was in her voice or eyes. It was a message, hidden within subtleties, but too subtle for a grieving padawan short on sleep. He shook his head and followed.

Even at the speed of a Republic attack cruiser it took several days of travel in hyperspace to reach the assigned position in the Outer Rim. Anakin understood the basics of the mission well enough: stop the plundering and smuggling flourishing as the Republic, Jedi, and planetary governments diverted attention away from such activities to the war.

It meant there were no innocents to protect, unless they stumbled into the middle of a pirate attack. It was the Republic against the lawless; friends versus foe, attack or be attacked. A simple mission, and therefore one he didn't need to prepare for. He was always prepared for a fight.

That meant he had more than enough free time on the trip to do nothing, and doing nothing meant he had plenty of time to think or feel, neither of which he wanted to do. His thoughts clouded with emotions, and his emotions battled his thoughts, so that neither could successfully rise to the top.

So he hung out with the mechanics, tinkered with his ship, made some modifications to Artoo, anything to keep himself busy. But each day the ship day drew to a close and ship night came. With night, came a few dreams and far too many nightmares.

_Anakin! Help…I need your help_!

…_no, Master, I must stay where I am and you – must stay where you are._

_I'm dying, Anakin…I will die if you don't come soon…_

…_then die, Master, for there is nothing I can do – I'm forbidden…_

Anakin woke with tears on his cheeks and an image of a broken man reaching for him… dying alone, whispering, _why didn't you save me - when you find me I will be but a pile of decaying flesh and bones. _Burying his head in his pillow didn't wipe the terrible picture away or the reproachful whispers that beat against his ears.

I'm sorry…so very sorry, Master…he muttered, knuckling his eyes dry with a sleeve cuff and breathing deeply. "I abandon you – but not by choice, but by necessity."

He successfully hid those sleepless nights for a long while, but the lack of sleep and tension eventually betrayed him.

"We arrive at our position shortly, Padawan and we – you – must be ready. Your master would want you to let him go, to move on and not endanger yourself or others by focusing on the past," Ki-Adi-Mundi counseled him, studying him with worried eyes one morning.

"He's alive, Master. He would want me to save him, not forget about him." Weary with lack of sleep, weary with unresolved worry, weary of fighting disbelief, Anakin spoke softly with no trace of his previous defiance. He spoke only the truth as he knew it, and let the other Jedi think what they would. He had no way to reach them, he knew now.

"Padawan. No one is asking you to forget Obi-Wan. What you are asked to do is to accept his death and let him go. Be at peace with it. Mourn him, but live your life. Your master is at peace in the Force; he would want his padawan to be at peace in his life until the day you, too, are at peace in the Force." Ki-Adi-Mundi was as gentle as Anakin had been soft. He offered the only assistance he knew to one who was moving beyond pain but hadn't yet found acceptance.

Would Anakin be at peace if he truly knew Obi-Wan was dead, beyond pain? Had he found peace after his mother died? To a certain extent, he had, a peace born of knowing that he could no longer stop a dreaded future from happening, a peace born only of resignation.

It was the same uneasy peace he would find if Obi-Wan were dead; he would be freed from this pained waiting and hopelessness – Anakin ruthlessly squashed that thought. He would _never_ allow himself to think _that._

Never.

Obi-Wan Kenobi lived.

Not just today, but tomorrow and the days after, a parade of tomorrows that stretched into years; tomorrows that would see memories of these days vanished into the mists of the past as if they had never existed.

"Yes, Master." Anakin knew Ki-Adi-Mundi wasn't fooled. His tone was flat, even to his own ears. He would give them words of acceptance if they would leave him alone, but he would never accept his master's death. He couldn't accept a lie, and one day he would prove it was a lie.

He continued to believe that Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, despite any evidence to the contrary. One day, soon, he would be vindicated.

On that day, escaped from his captivity along with ARC Trooper Alpha, Obi-Wan Kenobi would shine again in the Force, even if his padawan was the only one able to sense it. Anakin Skywalker would persuade Ki-Adi-Mundi that he did indeed feel his master's presence, and the two would go to his rescue.

Little did he know that escape and freedom alone did not mean the end of his master's suffering.

Ghosts of the past and demons of the dark did not easily let go.


	30. Liberty, Sweet Liberty

"Open the door and run," Alpha grumbled quietly as alert eyes scanned the corridor. "Run, he says – I'm lucky to even be standing on these legs, let alone moving anywhere on 'em."

Softly voiced complaints or not, the clone trooper had quickly interposed himself between his general and the open doorway, blocking Obi-Wan from any potential danger should anyone be outside ready to confront the two prisoners.

Alpha's barely perceptible nod of satisfaction accompanied a subtle release of tension when he realized the hallway was empty and silent. Just behind him, "protected" by the clone's body, the Jedi smiled to himself, shielding his tearing eyes from the brighter light with one hand.

Once free of the mask and able to touch the Force, Obi-Wan had known the hallway outside was clear. His plan was not quite as simple as he had said; even in his desperation to leave this place of nightmares and horrors, he would not rush recklessly forward without at least considering the next step or two.

Absently flexing crooked fingers that would need to be re-broken to knit properly, Obi-Wan leaned against the wall and took several slow, deep breaths as a wave of dizziness washed over him and slowly dissipated. Fatigue, pain and malnourishment had taken its toll, but for now, adrenaline, desire and stubbornness would overcome any bodily weakness that might otherwise interfere with their escape.

He glanced at Alpha but his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed. As much as he hoped for a straightforward escape, he knew such was unlikely. He would carefully husband his strength and minimize his use of the Force, saving both for dire need. He joined Alpha in again stretching and twisting too-taut muscles from bodies too long held immobile and now protesting against a range of motion long forgotten.

"Almost as painful as anything Ventress inflicted on us, right, General?" Alpha sounded cheerful, though wary eyes continued to look for approaching threats.

"Not even close," the Jedi replied with a slight shudder of remembrance. "However, I am beginning to get an idea of what creaky old age is going to feel like." A hand dropped on Alpha's shoulder as he sent a brief wave of healing Force into that battered body, concerned eyes scanning his companion. "With those wounds, can you fight if we are forced to?"

"Until I'm dead, I can fight," Alpha grunted. "Quite a trick you pulled there, general."

His joke was met only with an absent smile, for Obi-Wan was stretching out with his senses, feeling for immediate threats or nearby signs of life, for he had no real hope that his draw on the Force had gone unnoticed. The question was how much time they had before guards and/or Ventress interfered.

The Jedi only nodded when Alpha said he would search for something to wear, his full attention devoted only to furthering their escape. Much as he disliked the idea, a means of creating a diversion were obvious.

There were other prisoners nearby, mistreated to be sure, but not subject to the pure inventiveness that Ventress had so delighted in torturing him with. If he opened their cells and freed them, the mass prison break would help to provide cover and keep the droids and/or prison guards occupied. He had no wish to face Ventress in the shape he was in, but better her alone, than her with scores of guards backing her up.

He paid little attention as Alpha returned with a bundle, so he didn't see Alpha's eyes narrow as he studied his general. In the light, captivity was writ in large splotches of multi-colored bruises, the red of healing skin and the white of scarred tissue. Weeping wounds and infected ones begged for a healer's attention.

Obi-Wan absently accepted the clothing Alpha handed him, sliding into the pants and reaching for a loose shirt. He was drawing it over his head as Alpha asked quietly "Are you going to be able to make it general? Quite frankly, sir, how are you even standing up – I've seen dead that looked in better shape than you."

_Almost certainly they felt better, too_, Obi-Wan refrained from saying out loud. The rough weave of the shirt almost had him jumping out of his skin as the fabric slid over raw skin, skin still puckered and seared by too close contact with a lightsaber.

"I'll tell you just how terrible I feel when I have time." He ran his own critical eye over his companion, and his mouth twisted as he surveyed the visible wounds, injuries needing bacta and stitches. He sent another brief wave of healing Force into his companion's battered body before a quick final pulse into his own, the immediate need outweighing the necessity of saving his Force strength for the battle he was sure was to come.

"Ventress will have felt the Force and must surely be on her way to confront us. I think our best chance to get out of here is to free all these other prisoners and create mass confusion."

He could see that Alpha wasn't too keen on the idea, no doubt thinking the idea unwise, but his silence meant he had no alternative suggestion.

"They may be dangerous prisoners, yes, but that's Ventress's problem, not ours. I hate to say this – but I truly feel even by letting these prisoners go, an innocent populace is not about to be overrun by murderers. If anything, I sense they might turn on each other, or Ventress and her guards. It's a risk, I agree, but a necessary one. Neither of us is really up to a protracted fight; at least I know I'm not."

With Alpha's reluctant nod of agreement, the two men made their way down the hall, manually opening cell doors and occasionally removing manacles. By and large, these other prisoners were in better shape, more neglected and locked up than tortured and abused and all too ready to make a dash for freedom.

Though many of the prisoners promptly fled without even a nod of thanks, many milled around restlessly, mutters swelling in tone and decibels to angry discordant cries. The discontent and anger slowly seeped into and polluted the gentle eddies of the Force.

The Jedi sighed, tightening his shields against the intrusive emotions. Though he wasn't drawing on the Force - or as little as possible for the time being – it was there in the background, warm and gentle against a mind still raw, and he wanted – needed – to feel only that part of the Force for now.

To his dismay, his shields were less than perfect, and he could feel the mad swirls reaching out, enticing him to remember his pain, his anger, and his hate. He chose instead to remember defeating them once and that he would defeat them again, but for now – now – he had to focus on escape and only escape.

"Hah, off-worlders," one large being laughed as he strode forth into the hall, rubbing his wrists and eying the two doubtfully. His gaze flickered over Alpha, dismissing him almost casually. He sniffed disdainfully at the smaller man, clearly seeing the Jedi as no threat, and magnanimously proclaimed, "Off-worlders started our fall; off-worlders are now our means of freedom. We killed the first one, but in return for our freedom and our lives, we give you yours."

Though the other being's stature and manner would intimidate most other beings, Obi-Wan didn't even blink. He sensed no threat from the man, only a healthy dose of arrogance and self-importance.

"Most generous," Obi-Wan said dryly, as beside him Alpha bristled. "We have no intention of hanging around here anyway – where exactly are we, by the way? Can't say we were ever given the hospitality tour by our venerable hostess."

He wasn't going to allow himself to speak her name for fear of stirring up those emotions he thought released and gone. He had fought his way past anger and hate, but it was becoming all too clear he had not yet fought totally free of them. Blood lust and a desire for revenge fueled many of the newly freed prisoners, and their chaotic and desperate emotions swirled around him, reawakening memories of his own dark emotions fighting to take hold within his own heart and mind, no matter how unwanted the emotions had been.

Under normal circumstances, a Jedi would be unaffected by the uncontrolled emotions of others, but Obi-Wan had endured weeks going on months of pain and deprivation. His control was tenuous at best, he instinctively knew.

He didn't want to even think of Ventress until he was alone and able to meditate on his feelings. He understood why he felt as he did, even accepted it as an almost inevitable consequence of his mistreatment, but the feelings were repugnant and something he wished to rid himself of as soon as he could. The wounds to his body would heal without attention; the wounds to his mind would not and they were the ones he was most concerned with.

Anger, hate, fear: the emotions were like invasive weeds with persistent roots. No matter if the emotions were released to the Force or not, roots tended to remain and sprout more than once, needing constant attention until finally conquered.

Obi-Wan knew he had not yet won that battle.

He had been tainted in a way not easily dismissed during his captivity, a taint that soured his stomach and soiled his mind, a taint not easily removed but potentially tamed with the help of his fellow Jedi once back amongst their company. Any healing would have to wait until they were safe, anyway, so he buried them from thought, and listened to what the prisoner had to say.

As the sentient, self-introduced as Osika Kirske, filled the two men in, Obi-Wan's hard-won detachment faltered, only to finally shatter with dismay and horror – infinite sadness – as Kirske continued his story.

"Rattatak: only the strong survive; the weak are pruned from the vines," Kirske informed them proudly. He stood with head uplifted, arms crossed and delighting in his tale. "We have fought over its land for untold generations; our crops are watered with the blood of our enemies and our cities are built on the bones of the dead. Even here, this citadel is rebuilt every few cycles and the latest victor consigns the previous to its cells, generations upon generations dying, suffering, shedding its pain into the very walls."

The screams of the suffering, seeped into stone and chilling the bones, was something not only he heard. It was Rattatak's pulse, it throbbed in its inhabitants and it was something its inhabitants gloried in.

For the first time, Obi-Wan understood the suffering he had felt was not all Asajj's doing. It was Rattatak's history; it was Dar B'dist a second time, another place. This place was drenched in suffering; untold generations had shed hatred until it permeated the very air and stone. All the agony and horrors he had felt: it was Rattatak itself.

"Oh, dear Force," he murmured, so shaken he stumbled and nearly fell. His hand brushed against Kirske's hand and the contact brought his head up sharply. For a moment, his eyes connected with Kirske's and the man's memories flooded through him: slaughtering thousands and delighting in it, amassing power and more power, laughing as a young girl huddled weeping at the feet of a couple drenched in blood, weeping on the corpses as their blood mingled with hers….

Pain…so much pain…but years as a Jedi enabled him to school his face in a mask of calm as he fought to disengage from the memories, sick at what he was seeing before him, through Kirske's eyes….

Young eyes, grown old in an instant, suddenly filled Obi-Wan's mind. Ventress's eyes, those of a child, filled with horror and pain – eyes like those of Anakin at nine, when the padawan had knelt before him and whispered through a throat so tight with grief that the words were barely audible, "Qui-Gon – I'm so sorry, Anakin – Qui-Gon is dead." He recognized that blank look of pure pain and disbelief – eyes that could not comprehend.

_Anakin had stared at him without a word, the boy celebrating victory and glorying in the role he had played, now drowning in sorrow over defeat – the wash of tears in blue eyes, the quiver of lips – the boy who flung himself into Padme's arms and cried in utter desolation as the padawan knelt in lonely silence fighting his own tears, his own lips a quiver with nothing to comfort his aching heart but the Force that now held his master._

Young Asajj had had no one to turn to, no comforting arms, and the man who slew her parents and left their bleeding corpses at her feet looked up with fear and rage at the warlord who – dear Force – licked his lips as he drank in her terror as he raised his weapon …only he chose that day to let the young girl die a slow death, wandering in grief and despair. The girl did not die at his hands that day, only her soul did.

Abrupt and overpowering rage flamed through the Jedi; he fought it back by sheer will power, as the powerful emotion stole the ability to speak concisely and clearly.

"You – you," Obi-Wan's mouth worked as he clenched and unclenched his fingers. He took a step towards Kirske, only to feel a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Alpha's eyes boring into his, a trace of concern and anxiety: humanity in a world long stripped of such; the lava in his veins now turned to ice water. He shuddered silently; releasing the flood of emotions, locking what little remained behind iron shields to deal with when he could.

What had he intended? He honestly didn't know – he just didn't know. The bedrock of his convictions had proven to be uncertain and shifting sand: the Obi-Wan Kenobi he thought himself to be would not have twitched one muscle towards Kirske, no matter his repugnance. Darkness still lurked within, not defeated, no, only temporarily vanquished to the deepest depths of himself where it lay in wait to ensnare him another time. How quickly it had flared; how difficult it had been to subdue.

The Jedi swallowed his revulsion. He had no time for emotion, not now, not for himself, not for others.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, to listen without reacting to the rest to the story: how the previously referred to off-worlder had crashed onto the planet not long after and befriended the young girl, and began the difficult task of reclaiming her humanity.

Together they had battled the warlords and united a good portion of the planet, but the growing display of unusual powers by the girl, as well as that demonstrated by the man, had alarmed those warlords not yet subjugated.

The warlords had joined forces to defeat the two; had managed to kill just the off-worlder. All out war resumed, and these prisoners were many of the defeated warlords, defeated by the girl they had sought to defeat, forced to work as slaves rebuilding the city and the citadel they currently inhabited.

The cycle continued, and the victims became the victors and the victors the victims. No one won and everyone lost: such as always the case when inhumanity governed a planet.

Yet here, an orphaned girl had once learned to let go of her grief and hate, to fight for peace on behalf of herself as well as others, only to lose he who had given her hope and another chance at life. No wonder Ventress had battled so fiercely for a place at Dooku's side.

Tightly held in check horror and anger transmuted into pity and sorrow as Obi-Wan understood the source of Ventress's pain, joined by guilt at being so quick to judge another, no matter his provocation. Had he not, long ago, condemned her actions? When had his condemnation of her actions turned to condemnation of another being? Such was not his way and never had been.

Such was not the way of a Jedi.

Ventress had needed something only one being had ever truly offered her, and it had been torn away from her at a most vulnerable time. She had not known how to fight despair and grief; and the dark had claimed what the light had been reaching for, when her light had been snuffed out – a light another had been trying to nurture and nourish.

That someone, Obi-Wan now felt confident, had been a trained Force-sensitive, probably a Jedi. The two had battled for a just and more peaceful society in a world that neither knew nor cared for such and then Ventress's mentor had been killed. So much tragedy for a young girl to bear, and Obi-Wan's heart twisted within him.

What would his Anakin's fate have been had he been found and mentored by a Sith? The Force was a great tool for good as well as a great tool for evil. The very thought of his padawan, striking terror and dealing death, an agent of darkness stole the breath from him. The eager, easy to like boy he had first met – turned cruel and without mercy – even the very thought of that froze his heart and numbed his mind.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, the Jedi tightened his lips and once again focused on his task. He could not afford pity, or anger. He had no strength to spare for anything but his bid for freedom and one Jedi alone, escaping captivity, could not change what was or would be by himself.

Jedi Master Kenobi summoned the Force to center himself and give him the composure he sought, and when the Jedi was again in control of the man, General Kenobi took over.

With a crowd of prisoners at their back, guided by Kirske, Obi-Wan and Alpha headed down the corridors, only to be confronted by armed guards.

"Hands or appendages up, you're unarmed," the apparent leader commanded as blaster rifles took aim and the Jedi took immediate action.

Obi-Wan sprang into the air, somersaulting to land behind the guards. "Weaponless, not unarmed," he corrected easily as his legs slammed two of the guards into the floor; he knocked their weapons towards Alpha with a wave of his hand as he turned and downed several more. His diversion had allowed the massing prisoners to rush the guards and overwhelm them, their yells echoing the length of the corridor as prisoners fought guards and each other. In the mad scramble for weapons, more than one person was trampled by accident. Soon all the weapons were in the hands of the freed prisoners, and the guards were now the captives – and fast becoming victims, dying with their own weapons turned upon them or beaten to death.

Cries of the dead and dying mixed with triumphant shouts; Obi-Wan tried to restore order but before he could take more than a step forward, Alpha shot out an arm and barred his way with a whispered, "it's too late to stop them, general. I'm sorry, sir."

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, recognizing the truth in the words. Still, he had to try something.

"Don't kill them!" he shouted, wincing as several guards had their necks snapped and their bodies flung to the ground, one almost skidding to his feet. "Restrain them, shove them in cells; don't just kill them!"

He was ignored. Most of the now freed prisoners were captured combatants, and they had a new battlefield: their jailors. This was no longer a prison break, but a battle in a war that never ended.

"C'mon, general, we've got to move," Alpha grabbed the Jedi's arm as Obi-Wan looked at the carnage, grief in his eyes. "They're hardly innocent non-combatants and the two of us alone can't stop them."

A harsh nod indicated the Jedi understood. They ran down the hall with several of the prisoners accompanying them while the rest just surged without direction or aim, fighting anything in their path. A feeling, an itch, niggled at Obi-Wan and he suddenly turned aside, Alpha unquestioningly following him into a vast room where the Jedi headed unerringly over to a display stand.

"My lightsaber," the Jedi exclaimed in relief, turning it over in his hands and examining it carefully before jamming it in the waistband of his borrowed pants. As the crystal and the Jedi called to each other in the caves of Ilum, the crystal had called him to it, here in Ventress's trophy room. He was the crystal as it was he, tuned to each other.

As he turned aside, his eyes were drawn upwards. Dominating the cavernous space stood a statue roughly twice his height: a human male clothed in Jedi tunics. The face was stern and noble in visage and the hands open, palms upright. A lightsaber hung at the statue's side and a display box at the statue's feet cradled the actual weapon.

The death of this man, her Jedi mentor, had driven Ventress to fury that had not abated after all these years. After the death of his own master, Obi-Wan had known rage, had wished to avenge the death of a beloved mentor, had rushed to battle with the killer – and seen that the path of vengeance led to ruination and darkness. Ventress had not been able to foresee this; a young girl would probably not.

With a little gesture of respect to the unknown Jedi, Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Though your name may be lost, for a time it seems you brought peace to some of this planet and hope to one grieving girl. I refuse to believe the girl you befriended and mentored is lost; I shall try to find a way to save her and bring her back to the light. As one Jedi to another, I promise."

A light touch on his arm drew his attention. "While you stand around making promises to a statue, general, we are delaying our escape, and while you no doubt need down time, this is not the time or place. We need to go."

"You're right," Obi-Wan said with a soft sigh. He tapped into the Force, releasing his frustration and reaching for – no, needing - its strength. He couldn't afford to rest, not yet. With a slight frown, he reached for the unknown Jedi's lightsaber, somehow knowing he might need it and also knowing that if there was one thing that could bring Ventress to him at a later time, it would be this.

"Thank you," he nodded and ran after Alpha. They ran into more armed guards, Obi-Wan saved his protests against their deaths at the hands of freed prisoners and Alpha – he couldn't stop them anyway. Alpha already knew his stance on unnecessary deaths and he knew Alpha's stance on achieving his objective without calculation of the human cost.

He only had enough strength to fight one battle at a time, and he knew Ventress was close.

He yelled to Alpha when they approached the landing pads, "find a ship and prime the engines, I'll guard the exit. She is near. And Alpha – if it looks like I'll be overcome – your orders are to shoot to kill and escape. Don't let me fall into her hands again. The greater good – all that stuff…."

Alpha nodded, and Obi-Wan clapped his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll join you, now go," he added with a grin. It was meant to be reassuring; he wondered if it was. "I'll be right behind you."

Every sense he had alert, he tailed Alpha down several corridors until just ahead a ship lay in sight beyond transparisteel doors. A fan fighter: Ventress's own ship, not a general transport, and as such, fast and maneuverable. A tight grin crossed his face; they just might make it. Ventress was close, but so was her ship and she no doubt expected them to show up on another landing pad, not this one. There was just one cross-corridor, one last possible place of ambush other than the ship itself.

They were seconds from safety: given luck, but in Obi-Wan's experience, there was no such thing, only preparation and planning for any eventuality.

"There's our escape, Alpha," Obi-Wan said, pointing out the obvious. "Warm her up, will you? I have a feeling - ."

"That you won't escape?"

Obi-Wan had his lightsaber lit and held before him in a defensive position before the cool words had even dropped from Ventress's lips, his body quickly interposed between Alpha and Ventress.

"I don't think so," he replied calmly. With one hand, he waved Alpha on, knowing that despite the man's reluctance to abandon his general, he would obey. "Only that you will try to stop us."

"You're weak."

"I am," he nodded, in perfect agreement. "The Force, however, is not. You know this, too, it's stronger than your hate, Asajj and stronger than I. Remember how you felt with your mentor at your side, fighting for peace, an end to violence?"

His arm was already up and blocking her blow when Ventress sprung at him, he spun and feinted, swept a leg out as if to sweep her legs out from under her, but a quick twist and leap allowed her to remain balanced and on her feet as he expected. The move did, however, allow him to remain between her and the ship. They stared at each other a moment, Obi-Wan dropping back into a defensive stance as he heard the engines warming up behind him.

"Yield, Kenobi, you are no match for me, even at full power."

"Perhaps not," he conceded amiably. "But with the Force as my ally, I am perfectly capable of holding you off as long as necessary."

He correctly anticipated that she would make her next move while he was still speaking; he retreated a step holding his lightsaber high and as she advanced, he sidestepped forward and around, his blade suddenly low and catching hers from underneath. Only a skillful twist and retreat of her own saved her wrist.

"You were saying?" he invited, raising an eyebrow high. She snarled and he smiled pleasantly. Her control was slipping, giving him an edge to exploit as he resumed a defensive saber style; his offense his body language. Ventress would not take lightly to being mocked, giving him an advantage to offset her greater physical advantage at this time. In other regards, they were well matched, of similar height with similar reach.

She came at him with high and low blows, twists and strikes. He was clumsy from deteriorated muscles and stiff, but the Force allowed him the necessary skill and power to defend each blow with a twist of his body and counterstrike of his own.

He wouldn't have the Force with him for long; captivity had weakened him too much and without the Force he would not withstand Ventress for long. His grasp was already slipping, for mere seconds at a time, but soon it would desert him.

"Hate always proves stronger than love. Love shall destroy you, Kenobi. Mark my words, love shall bring all that you care about to ruination, and then you shall hate. When you hate, you will finally be free – only I plan to kill you before you discover this."

"I think not," he replied pleasantly, forcing a nonchalance into his tone that he didn't feel as his lightsaber singed her shoulder. Her counterstrike came too close for comfort; he retreated a step as he fought to hold onto the Force for the minute more he needed.

"I plan to live until you learn to let go of your hate. Your hate imprisons you, Asajj. I have no power to do so, only you do. Free yourself," he panted, sparing a look over his shoulder. He was rapidly tiring; it was time to throw a psychological weapon into the fray. He only hoped he had guessed correctly, for it could just as easily prove to be his downfall as hers. He needed to end this now.

His blade swung in an impossible curve as both of Ventress's lightsabers came at him and he back flipped a distance away, pulling the forgotten Jedi's lightsaber from where it had been tucked out of sight into his second hand. Obi-Wan could fight with either hand equally well, though he had never wielded two at one time. He let the Force flow through him guiding his movements, grateful that he could still access it. He would have its strength as long as necessary, but he feared what would follow such a pull on it.

He couldn't afford to collapse, not now. Not yet.

"Defiler! Thief!" Ventress cried; her voice terrible with anger and grief. For a moment, the lost and frightened child who saw her parents cut down in front of her eyes peeked through the cold eyes. "Give it back, Kenobi or I shall cut you down."

Posed to take advantage of that instant of vulnerability, the Jedi flipped onto the ramp as Alpha gunned the engines. Panting heavily, Obi-Wan watched as Ventress stared after him. He could have almost sworn he saw tears in her eyes.

Compassion and pity strengthened within him, but the antagonism was still within him.

_A Jedi knows not hate or anger_, he reminded himself. _Yet I still harbor them within me, though I willingly consent to neither…what then does that make me? _

Grabbing a med pack as he went, he joined Alpha up front, dropping heavily into a seat. He rubbed his face, frustrated at his inability to let go his anger as the clone looked over at him.

"A far more equal battle, I see, General. You got away without a scratch."

"Just in time, though. My grip was so weak at the end I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to hold onto my lightsaber," Obi-Wan confessed, looking at his hands for the first time since he was freed. The sight held him silent, but just for a moment. They were the least of his worries at the moment.

He rummaged through the medpac as Alpha blasted them towards freedom.

"Ah. Bandages, bacta, good. Hold out your hand, Alpha." Silently, Obi-Wan wrapped first one then the other wrist, and repeated the process on his wrists. Both men's wrists were raw and red, the skin all but rubbed off in each man's efforts to free himself over the long captivity.

He got up to replace the medpack and wavered a moment on unsteady legs. "Oh, dear, not good," he said weakly as his legs buckled under him, dropping him heavily back into his seat.

"Out on his feet," Alpha muttered, before his head swung around to notice the Jedi blinking in confusion, a puzzled look on his face as if he didn't quite understand how he came to be sitting down. "Or - I guess not. General, you need a healer – you going to make it to Republic space? We're a long ways from safety yet."

"I need sleep, not a healer," Obi-Wan corrected. "I'm in no condition to keep drawing on the Force, so try to minimize my need for it, okay?"

"Abdicating command responsibility, general?"

One grin was met with another.

"Not at all, delegating to the next in command."

"Thanks, sir." Alpha pointedly looked around for _his_ own next-in command.

"You can delegate to the computer once you set our course," Obi-Wan consoled him, yawning, but trying to stay alert for pursuers while in the planet's atmosphere.

They finally blasted out of orbit and set course for Coruscant. They had escaped, but they would not relax. It still was possible for trouble to interfere with their safe return, but at least their time in hyperspace should keep them safe for a while, as long as pirates hadn't mined hyperspace to pull them out of it.

He certainly hoped the return trip was uneventful. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he had another fight left in him. He swore every cell in his body ached and his mind was dull with exhaustion as the adrenaline surge that had flooded his body subsided even as the Force itself all but abandoned him now that he had no need to call on it.

As soon as the stars lengthened in the familiar blur that signified the shift, Obi-Wan all but collapsed where he sat, surrendering to the peaceful oblivion of simple sleep and recuperation.

It seemed Obi-Wan had just closed his eyes when the Force jolted him awake with a clear warning of danger. Alpha was even then taking evasive action: multiple ships were firing at them.

"For a while there I thought you were dead," Alpha tossed over his shoulder with a grin. In one second his general had come to full alertness.

"You mean I'm not?" Obi-Wan muttered, instantly assessing the situation. Multiple ships, all seemingly intent on blasting them out of the sky. Eluding one ship with the original Jango Fett in pursuit had taken all of his skill, and in the end, it wasn't skill, but ingenuity that had saved him. Hopefully all Fett's clones shared the same piloting ability; he would be best used as gunner.

"Gun turret," Obi-Wan said tersely, springing to his feet and dashing aft, kicking the activation switch even as he settled in and pulled a headset over his head. "Have you ID'd them?"

"Hostiles."

"Good enough." Obi-Wan aimed and fired, aimed again and a ship exploded. He had another in his sight when Alpha dove and he lost his target. Their ship wobbled under a barrage of fire.

"Lost a shield and we've got a hull puncture, general; can you slap a patch on it?"

"On it," Obi-Wan shouted and dove for the patch kit, led to both it and the puncture by the Force. The hiss of escaping air stopped and Obi-Wan hurried back to the turret just as the ship yawed violently, almost throwing the Jedi to the deck.

"We've lost another shield and the hyperdrive is almost shot – we need a planet, general, if you can find us one."

Hadn't he already lived this scenario? Ruthlessly squashing the memories of Tatooine, Naboo, Theed, Obi-Wan consulted the computer even as he took out several more ships.

"Riflor. Coordinates coming up on the nav computer."

"Riflor, right. I'll try to make it – and general – it's been a pleasure to serve with you."

"As I with you – but we'll make it."

"I know – the question is in how many pieces?"

"Might I suggest – one."


	31. Rescuing ObiWan

Fighting pirates, fighting droids, fighting Separatists – battle was battle, no matter the opposition. Anakin was in his element when fighting. He didn't need to be big on tactics or strategy: he plowed full speed into any situation, relying on the Force to power him through anything. It always worked well for him.

Once again, it bewildered his Jedi companions, when Anakin dove right into the pirate vessel as they engaged the smaller fighters. They didn't know he was so distracted that he had lost focus, and that it was only their shouts in his headset warning him that he was on a collision course to imminent destruction that resulted in his successful evasive maneuver. That same maneuver allowed him a successful shot down the other ship's gullet; it exploded in a spectacular fireball that almost fried the small fighter.

"Ye-haw!" Anakin's shout of elation brought a quick reprimand from his temporary master for gloating over the deaths of so many. "No, master, I sense Master Obi-Wan in the Force. I knew he was alive – I knew it and I need to get to him. Now."

"Why now? None of us sense him." Frustration bled into Ki-Adi-Mundi's tone, for it had been a long couple of weeks of trying to keep tabs on Anakin Skywalker. Frustration, but also exasperation touched with hope.

"I have no wish to argue, masters, but I can sense him. The bond is faint like he's far from here, but active, and I feel his presence, weak but very real, in the Force." There was a determination, an absolute certainty in the young Jedi's words that had never before existed. Anakin was speaking his truth, not his hopes.

"Please…I must go to him."

It was the sudden lapse into a desperate plea that persuaded Adi Gallia. After that firm declaration, the padawan was as close to begging as Anakin Skywalker could. The padawan never begged. He might whine; he might complain but he would not beg. Ever.

His pride would not allow that.

His need was strong enough to overcome his pride. Making a sudden decision, Adi spoke crisply.

"We do expect Jedi to act on their feelings as guided by the Force. Now, I think it is time we trust Padawan Skywalker on this. We can handle the remaining pirates, Ki, Master Koon and I. Find your master, padawan. Go find Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you all."

Her words brought the other Jedi masters to agreement, for it was true: no one doubted the strength of the master-padawan bond between the two, or Anakin's connection to the Force. The young Jedi had spoken the truth as revealed to him by the Force and all Jedi were expected to follow their feelings when so guided. With the pirate vessel destroyed, Adi and Plo Koon, along with the Clonetrooper fighters, were capable of handling the pirate fighter ships on their own.

Permission finally granted, Anakin set the course he _knew _was correct, to Riflor, barely taking a moment to send the coordinates to Ki-Adi-Mundi, who would accompany him.

Riflor was the only planetary system with three suns. Whether it was a vision, or a flash from Obi-Wan's eyes coming through the awakened bond, Anakin could not tell. He knew all that he needed to know though: Obi-Wan was alive, near Riflor, and under fire with a ship that was fast failing and doomed to crash.

The com channels only carried static, regardless of frequency.

"You're not dying on me just when I found you, Master," Anakin sent a command through the Force, hoping it carried through the bond. He sensed nothing in return, but it was not a _nothing_ born of emptiness, but most likely deep and intense concentration that had no allowances for distractions.

A questioning beep caught his attention.

"You heard right, Artoo, we're rescuing Obi-Wan," Anakin informed his droid. A toot of surprise brought a strained smile to Anakin's face. "Yes, Artoo, he's alive."

A warbling burst was immediately followed by a cascade of whistles and beeps.

"It's not impossible, Artoo, since it's true. I can't believe even you doubted me. He really is alive, but in danger and we have got to get to him. Now."

_Master, I'm coming…please, hang on_, Anakin thought, fiddling with controls to give him an extra burst of speed. Artoo was apparently just as eager to get to the Jedi master from his excited chirping and electronic suggestions on system tweaks.

"I thought you weren't fond of Obi-Wan."

A rude _blurp_ followed.

"Well, you _are_ a droid," Anakin pointed out. "He just doesn't realize you're more than just a droid – I'm sure he likes you, he just doesn't think of you as a person with real feelings. Yes, Artoo, I'll be sure to tell him you helped in his rescue."

The pleased warble brought a small grin to Anakin's face. He'd always suspected Artoo was just a bit fond of the Jedi, despite his master's indifference to droids in general.

"Send those system tweaks to Master Mundi's astromech so he can keep up with us," he suggested, when said master comm'd Anakin not to get too far ahead of him.

Personally, Anakin could care less if Ki-Adi-Mundi was with him or not. Despite his worry and anticipation, he was calm and focused. Now was the time for action, and action he was taking.

During that entire flight in hyperspace he worked to find his center. There was nothing he could do until he got to Riflor. His fingers itched to grab his master in a tight hug and feel the solidity of the man under his hands. For now, all he could do was sit in a cramped cockpit; sit and worry with Artoo's chirps of encouragement his only company.

* * *

Young Skywalker had been right all along: Obi-Wan lived. The Council had been electrified by the news. Adi Gallia's text message had been terse and to the point: _Kenobi alive, Mundi and Skywalker intercepting possibly failing ship. Ready fast shuttle for immediate launch once coordinates confirmed. _

Alive! The news had stunned the Council to momentary silence. Yoda had blinked in pleased surprise; Mace had sighed and leaned back in his seat like a man freed of unrealized tension, declaring a short recess while the Council members absorbed the news.

Yoda hadn't even waited until he returned to his quarters to pass this on. This news more than gladdened his ancient heart and he knew several other Jedi who would be just as pleased.

"See you, I would in my quarters, limited news of Obi-Wan I have and alive he is," Yoda comm'd Bant Eerin and Siri Tachi. Affixing a time that would see Bant Eerin off duty in the Healers Ward and Siri Tachi free from her sparring class with the oldest initiates, Yoda retreated to patiently meditate and seek further information from the Force should it grant it.

Adi Gallia had followed up the terse text message via hologram after the pirates had been vanquished that Ki-Adi-Mundi had flown off with the young man: his delight and joy in what only he could sense unmistakable. Anakin Skywalker had felt Obi-Wan Kenobi's presence in the Force.

Master Kenobi was alive! The Council had found the news nearly miraculous. It just wasn't possible – but the impossible had somehow been accomplished

While the atmosphere in the Council chamber had been restrained, the ripples in the Force easily marked the members' reactions. After the Republic's recent defeat on Jabiim, the news was even more welcome than it would have been by itself. Yoda had made the decision to hold the news back from the politicians for now, but to let Obi-Wan's Jedi colleagues in on the news.

As there had as yet been no contact with Obi-Wan, no one knew what condition he was in and the Council wished to avoid a public spectacle of his return. It was possible he was so badly damaged by his experiences that he would never have a public face again, too scarred forever in mind and or body to ever participate in the war, or subsequent missions after its end.

He would not be the first Jedi, or the second, to suffer such an unhappy fate.

They were determined that Master Kenobi would arrive quietly and without fanfare, given time to recuperate and come to terms with his experiences.

Bant and Siri arrived almost at the same time and exchanged smiles before assuming a mask of calm as befitted Jedi, but an air of expectancy and happiness accompanied them as they were ushered into Yoda's chambers.

Without preamble, Yoda stood leaning on his stick as he faced them. "News we have that Master Obi-Wan is alive. His padawan and Ki-Adi-Mundi even now are on his trail, his presence in the Force confirmed by young Skywalker. Wished to tell you myself I did before word spreads. Out of danger he is not, on a failing ship he might be – unclear that is."

The two Jedi exchanged glances, shocked as they absorbed Yoda's words. He hastened to assure them as best he could.

"Trust Obi-Wan to survive I do. Always with him is the Force; kept him alive only to die now it would not. Whatever he has experienced an ordeal it must have been. Damaged, perhaps badly, he might be. Wish I did to forewarn you."

"Anakin felt him in terrible pain more than once, before he left with Master Mundi," Siri said quietly. "Did he tell you that? I felt him in pain, once, too, long before that and I – I felt I – touched him just days ago. We knew he was alive all these weeks."

Yoda's ears drooped a bit sadly as he contemplated her words, sinking into a seat.

"Admit it I should not, but always hoped I did in my heart that right you were: that somehow alive Obi-Wan was. Doubted in my mind did I and the rest of the Council, but save him we would have tried, had the Force guided us. Help him you could not either, or young Skywalker. Guilt you should not feel."

"I don't…only relief and a hope that – he forgives us for abandoning him in his time of need." Her voice didn't betray her, Yoda noticed with approval. In full command of her emotions she was, but inside her heart was singing. Beside her, Bant nodded slowly, her emotions also swirling under a mask of calm.

"Blame Obi-Wan will not. Knows not the meaning of the word does he. A true Jedi he is – pure is his heart and clear is his mind, even if stubborn is his will. When more I know I will pass on to his friends as you may now, though keep the news within the Temple yet a while we will. Alive he is now, alive he shall remain, full confidence in that I have."

'He's too stubborn to let impossibilities beat him," Bant murmured, the first words she'd spoken. "I should have known he would do the impossible from the beginning – survive."

"And for many more years I have foreseen," Yoda added firmly. Suddenly his eyes twinkled. "Old and white-haired, though young to me he will always be."

"Thank the Force for that. It has been – difficult – to do nothing but wait. Let us hope that Anakin and Master Mundi find him soon and bring him home, where he can be safe and made well."

"You know we healers wouldn't break our perfect record of fixing whatever ailments or injuries Obi-Wan suffers, Siri," Bant offered gently, earning a grateful smile from the woman at her side.

The two women looked at each and their hands clasped, united in their hopes for a dear friend's safe return. Yoda's eyes twinkled as he observed once again, with some bemusement, humans' needs for physical contact in stressful situations, even amongst Jedi who by and large eschewed such gestures.

"Hope for his quick and safe return we do indeed. A fast ship we have standing by, leave it will instantly when its destination known."

Yoda gestured the conversation was over by standing, leaning thoughtfully on his gimer stick as the two Jedi stood. He was aware of the rush of joy and relief both felt at the news, as well as the anxiety at having to wait longer.

An added sense of affection and worry radiated through the Force from one. Siri Tachi was concerned for Master Kenobi, her focus entirely on his well-being, not her happiness at his imminent return. An attachment, clearly, but one not based on greed or selfishness, and therefore not the type of attachment clearly forbidden.

Suspicion turned to absolute certainty: Siri Tachi still loved Obi-Wan, and was no less a Jedi for it. Yoda wondered if Obi-Wan had been able to set aside his feelings of long ago, or if he, too, had merely internalized them. More and more he was questioning things he had taken for granted all these many years. Clearly, he would have to resume his discussions with Adi Gallia upon her return.

He would not condemn their love, as long as they kept it under control and continued to behave as the Jedi they were. Such love as he now saw within at least one of them was no threat to the Order.

He would speak to them after Obi-Wan's return and recovery, Yoda decided; advise them that their love was not forbidden as long as it remained contained within that bond of friendship.

He nodded to himself, pleased with his decision, until the Force intervened.

He had a sudden vision of a recovering Obi-Wan locking away his pain behind a façade of normalcy, but inwardly hurting and never again the same man, lines carved in his face that only mirrored the scars both inner and outer of wounds that never quite healed and eyes that now held only the remnants of dim stars in the absolute darkness of pure space where once the light of a thousand stars had sparkled.

The vision changed: he saw Siri holding a not-yet-whole Obi-Wan, wrapping him in her strength, love and faith as much as within her arms, comforting and helping him to deal with and heal from his experiences and the experience strengthening them both as her love and faith flowing from the Force itself helped the hurting man to heal.

Two possibilities, two outcomes. Two Jedi, made stronger by a love that transcended attachment and indeed was approved by the Force itself, for he could almost feel its healing warmth himself as it surrounded the two in his vision.

An aspect of the Force almost unknown to the Jedi: pure love, for love was rarely so selfless, so untainted by possessiveness. The Force whispered, in the faint tones of the long gone Qui-Gon Jinn that Yoda sometimes heard: _yes_. _Love is never wrong, even for Jedi, when it is pure, for such love is incorruptible._

The Force clearly had a preference for one outcome over the other, regardless of how the Jedi Order might feel about tacit acceptance of the two Jedi's love.

Yoda made a sudden decision: give their love into their own hands, to do or do not as guided by the Force.

"Knight Tachi, an additional word with you if you would allow." The quiet words stopped Siri as she followed Bant out the door, curious, she turned back to see Yoda gesturing to her to reseat herself. He remained standing, leaning on his stick.

"Discussing the future, the Code, the future of the Order as well, Master Gallia and I have, told you has she?" Yoda nodded sagely as Siri clasped her hands in her lap, barely nodding. "Yet always to the will of the Force a Jedi listens, and deny it one does not, no matter its message. When clearly heard it is, above all other considerations it is elevated. Your old feelings for Master Kenobi, woken have they I know. For a friend Obi-Wan will have great need, I sense."

"You suspect that he will be traumatized in his mind, not just physically, right?" Siri drew a deep breath, almost sitting on her hands to avoid twisting them. "He's strong, though – he's strong."

"Strong indeed, so fight any sign of weakness he will. Know this we all do. Yet strong breaks, once the strain is too much. Bend, he must, absorb the blow and rebound. Strength no doubt kept him alive so strength he will hold onto with all the stubbornness within him. Now the time will be to let go and begin to heal for now he must accept the pain and weakness that comes with it. Ask for help, for comfort, he will not, but need it he will. Asking you to help him, I am, but no hardship for you that is, eh?"

"Obi-Wan has many friends and you know we all will stand beside him and help him. Bant – she's a healer, she'll know what he needs." Siri's surprise showed in her voice; that Yoda would even think to ask the obvious. All of Obi-Wan's friends would do whatever they could to help him.

"Indeed; many friends he has, but special you are." Yoda's eyes looked very contemplative now.

"When to no one else he would unburden himself, let you comfort him he did as a new knight, back home and grieving his master. New burdens now he must carry, unscathed no Jedi would be. Incomplete will be his release into the Force of the darker emotions; shamed of them he will be. Shamed he should not be, fight at his side, fight with all the love in your heart."

A Jedi fight with love? The suggestion, from Yoda? Siri blinked. "Love?" she asked carefully.

"Love," Yoda confirmed, harrumphing. "Love Obi-Wan you do, you do not deny, do you?"

"Well…no, I don't deny it."

Yoda's face softened. "Forbidden to love Jedi are, it is believed, yet compassion is necessary to a Jedi and compassion arises from love. _Attachment_ it is that is forbidden, for good reason. Attachment: selfish love that is, based on greed and possession. In your heart I see this not. Want what is best for him you do."

"How could anyone want other than what is best for him?" Siri murmured. "He would give anything and everything he had to one in need; it's something such a part of him that he doesn't even realize how much he gives and little he takes in return. To be his friend is to be twice blessed by the Force. His friendship is a gift to cherish. Should I lose that – I would lose something I value highly."

It was something she, and perhaps others, had almost learned to take for granted. Obi-Wan had given her, as he had others, so much – quiet understanding, sympathy without pity, clear-eyed guidance when the path was murky - never wanting anything in return and gaining in return the undying respect and affection of his friends.

When she and Obi-Wan had fought their way back to friendship, she remembered how comforting that relationship had grown to be – reliable and steadfast. They complemented each other; he taming some of her forthrightness and she loosening him up with her teasing.

"Other than his friendship, I don't need anything from Obi-Wan, not even his love," Siri affirmed the truth of Yoda's words.

Perhaps that was why she had won Obi-Wan's heart so many years before, Yoda mused. A strong woman with a good heart, who gave back in full measure what she was given.

"A knight and soon master you will be, in control of yourself you are, selfish your love is not. Selfish is not Obi-Wan, focus always he does on others. Follow your hearts I suggest, if allow you do your minds and especially the Force to guide you. Discretion you must practice though. Together you may be should you choose, allows this, even encourages this the Force itself does – but not legal bonds of matrimony, against the Jedi code that clearly is as well as unnecessary for a Jedi."

Yoda chuckled at the last part of the sentence, for legal bonds were just that – an economic partnership endorsed by the State and codified in law.

"Matrimony is for those with possessions; a legal contract sanctioned by the State," Siri nodded, well aware of the applicable laws. Marriage was commonly thought of as a moral commitment as well, by most humanoids, if not other sentient species, but commitment came from the heart, not the State. Jedi needed to be aware of both custom and law when upon various planets of the Republic.

It was a dizzying array of custom and law within various Republic planets and its many species of sentient beings: bonding, sometimes formalized in a ceremony either civil or religious, marriage, civil and/or religious, as well as combinations thereof, not to mention durations ranging from specific specified time periods to a species lifetime. Even the number of partners could vary, depending on a species-specific sexual division of however many genders.

Informal bonding, the most ancient custom, conferred no economic or legal benefits or responsibilities, and was considered the "purest" form by many, or hopelessly outdated and meaningless by others, for it was writ by the heart alone, not by parchment or in later centuries, electronic registries.

Formal bonding ceremonies, often integrated into the marriage ceremony itself, bound one to the other above all else, elevating the marriage partner supreme over all other duties and commitments. This was the reason marriage itself had come to be forbidden by the Jedi Code, for the Force had to come before all else for a Jedi.

The gentle joking broke some of the tension Siri was feeling over the line of conversation.

"If together you choose to be, common knowledge it cannot be. Misunderstood it would be by many, especially the younger Jedi who have not yet the maturity to distinguish one type of love from another. The Force, duty must remain first in your hearts or end it a second time you must. Understand me, do you?"

Siri's head was spinning: Adi, and now Yoda, urging her to accept her love for Obi-Wan, and if he reciprocated it, feel free to admit it to each other and let their bond take them to whatever level the Force approved.

To freely hold hands…express their hearts without reservation – the possibilities were dazzling and just as frightening.

"Let the Force and your own hearts guide you to what is right, as long as the spirit of the Code you respect and obey."

Siri looked up and found Yoda watching her with gentle eyes. Yoda had always been fond of Obi-Wan; perhaps that was why – no, it was not just sympathy for Obi-Wan's ordeal. Yoda was too much of a Jedi to be swayed by something as simple as that. He was watching her patiently, waiting for her understanding.

With a flash of insight, Siri understood that this was a conversation Yoda would have with few Jedi. Only those who loved unconditionally and could not just walk, but stay on the Jedi path while loving another, would be granted this dispensation, for surely that was what it was. Not truly permission to love, for love already existed, but freedom to acknowledge such between themselves. The Order was not ready to recognize, let alone encourage, relationships and the problems it would cause, not during such a time of turmoil as this.

Yoda's own affection for Obi-Wan and she, with the Force's tacit approval granted through the visions given to the old master, had given them permission to share with each other that which each had held private for so long: to be together if they could handle it, and to have the wisdom to back off once again if they could not.

"Are you speaking for the Council?"

Yoda blinked and his ears drooped. "Speak on behalf of the Force I do, not the Council. Listen to it I did, two visions it showed me, in one Obi-Wan never quite heals and in one heals he does with your help, yet in both the future unfolds as it will regardless. The second path the Force prefers, but your choice it is, what you share between you is yours to decide alone. Understand do you?"

"Perfectly, Master Yoda, but Obi-Wan?" Siri shrugged, inwardly wondering if she did truly understand just what he was referring to; fearing she knew how appalled Obi-Wan would feel about Yoda's suggestion should she not be misinterpreting the ancient master's words.

Dreams of what never was and truly never could be – it should have been tempting. That dreams might be allowed to become reality was instead unsettling; her feelings conflicted.

"He's a stickler for the rules, as you know, and like most of the Jedi, interprets the Code quite strictly to mean no admission of personal feelings for another and no relationships beyond friendships. Period. No matter what I feel for him, or even he for me, "we" will never be in any manner other than as friends, as now. I accept that; I cannot ask him to be other than who he is."

Yoda grunted; his amused grunt. "Indeed, but a fool he is not. Does what is _right_, Obi-Wan does. Deeper allegiance to the Force he has then to the rules; tradition bound he may be, but not inflexible, especially if nudged by the Force. So-called rules he has bent before this when demanded by circumstance. Perhaps greatly changed he will be after this ordeal, though stubborn always, I think. Counsel caution and consideration for him I do. Help him through it by whatever means you think necessary as long as harm him no further you do. Harm enough he has suffered. This you can do, I trust? Hmm?"

A gnarled claw lightly tapped her on the knee. Yoda was very earnest, and the smile forming on Siri's face immediately dissolved. Yoda might think he was impartial to all the Jedi, and treated all as if that were so, but his deep affection for Obi-Wan was obvious by the gentleness he now showed. The affection was on both sides. Whether fate or friendship formed that bond wasn't clear, but it was there, unacknowledged but bright in the Force.

"I will only help him heal – and I will do only what is best for him – regardless of how he might view matters." The grin came back. "He is a stubborn man as I said."

"Stubborn, yes, unreasonable, no; a fool he is not," Yoda added severely. "Informed of his status I will keep you."

His words were a dismissal, and Siri stood and bowed, knowing she would need to meditate through her conflicted feelings. She knew a part of her wanted nothing more than to throw herself into Obi-Wan's arms and feel the reality of him in her arms and his presence in the Force once again, even at the cost of abandoning Jedi serenity, yet such lack of restraint went against all her training and her personality.

It also led to troubling thoughts. Two of the twelve Council members were questioning behavior and interpretations of the Code guiding Jedi behavior that had long been held to be inviolable and unquestionable. Many Jedi chafed under the restrictions, many had private views on what they considered to be violations or not and behaved in accordance with those beliefs, but never had any on the Council itself questioned anything.

For the first time, Siri truly understood the toll the war was taking on the Order, and her elation was tinged with dismay. What would the galaxy, the Order, and the remaining Jedi be like once the war ended?

Suddenly, Siri wasn't sure she wanted to know.


	32. Padawan to the Rescue

_I'm coming, Master – hold on!_

Ignoring his temporary master's admonishment to wait for an extraction team and to observe protocol when arriving on planet, Anakin Skywalker aimed his ship towards the spot where he sensed his master was fighting desperately, taking the most direct vector that his ship was capable of. He barely heard Ki-Adi-Mundi's confirmation that he, too, now sensed Obi-Wan's presence in the Force, or the second request to wait for proper procedure to be followed.

The pull was too strong for Anakin.

The Force told him time was of the essence, that danger loomed and his master needed him. Anakin knew his master wasn't well, for his Force presence, usually so clear and bright, was clotted and dimmed with chaotic remnants of pain and anger. To the padawan's dismay, some of the dark debris he sensed came directly from the Jedi himself, though most seemed foreign, with a different signature on it.

Threading through all the emotional turmoil was exhaustion, weariness so deep and overwhelming that his master was in danger of collapsing at any time.

_Hang on, Master, I'm here,_ he mentally sent a surge through the bond, and to his intense relief, felt a welcoming surge from below. It was an acknowledgement only; his master was too busy fighting for his life to do more than flash his understanding and relief at reinforcements.

"Master Mundi, he's not at all well; yet he's fighting for his life down there, I've got to get to him now!" Anakin comm'd and steepened his descent another degree, another degree closer to disaster.

Muttering imprecations that barely carried through the ship-to-ship link, Ki-Adi-Mundi followed a slightly safer path that assured his ship would survive atmospheric entry, after sending a hurried message to the Temple: Kenobi located, Riflor, send extraction ship. It was code only for it would carry faster than a hologram transmission.

He already knew Adi Gallia or Plo Koon would have contacted the Council and a ship would be standing by at the Temple ready to go on a moment's notice, if not already sent ahead to an Outer Rim hyperspace lane intersection to await final coordinates.

After only several weeks with the young padawan under his wing, he understood as never before the sometimes harried and bemused manner Obi-Wan had worn for some time, though familiarity or resignation had softened the attitude in later years.

Anakin Skywalker, "Chosen One" or not, carried far too many expectations for a young man to handle, especially one not raised from infancy as a Jedi.

For the first time, the Jedi understood the pressure and expectations had been just as hard on the master, and he rather regretted the lack of sympathy and assistance the Council had extended when Obi-Wan had asked for guidance. Inexperienced the young master might have been, but he had known enough to know when to seek assistance or advice. He had instead received no help and no real encouragement.

He had been chided more than once for not keeping his apprentice in line. The faintest of flushes would suffuse that young countenance as he accepted the rebuke, the young padawan at his side feigning equal regret for his behavior.

The Council had not realized that making an exception as they had for a boy too old for training – a boy with a destiny, if the prophecy was correct - should have meant more attentiveness to the young man's training. No one Jedi, raised from infancy in the Temple, would be equipped to deal with the boy on his own – yet they had left Kenobi isolated, letting both the master and apprentice down.

It was going to make it all the sweeter to locate Obi-Wan; he would be rescued and his padawan would be returned to his custody.

Assuming, of course, that the two Jedi got there in time. If Ki-Adi-Mundi could now sense Obi-Wan's exhaustion warring with his pull on the Force, his padawan certainly could, for young Skywalker's frenzied anxiety was spiking in the Force, telling the older Jedi that Obi-Wan did not have much time before his strength gave out.

This time the padawan's reckless rush just might save his master rather than endanger him, so Ki-Adi-Mundi silently encouraged the young man on his way.

No one, Jedi or otherwise, could fly as Anakin Skywalker flew, and the young Jedi was on a mission, a mission to save his master. He was well ahead of Ki-Adi-Mundi and already swinging a lightsaber when Ki-Adi-Mundi caught up to the young Jedi's position. He was just in time to see a familiar arched eyebrow and hear a mild admonishment to "keep your focus" directed at the young man who was recklessly charging through bounty hunters to reach the side of the speaker and an ARC Trooper.

"Young Skywalker!" Ki-Adi-Mundi roared as Anakin appeared intent on totally ignoring the blaster fire aimed at him in his rush to get to his master's side, nearly spoiling Kenobi's apparent strategy of having the two Jedi surprise the bounty hunters from the rear rather than barreling through them to join the "trapped prey."

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan shouted at the same time with a look to the side, stopping the young Jedi's headlong rush. "I'm perfectly capable," – _perhaps not_ came a barely audible imprecation as he leapt into the air and somersaulted to a new position with a mild grimace on his face, "of facing these two if you'll be so kind as to," he ducked and came up swinging, "get those still between us."

The young man nodded and leapt where indicated. A few quick sweeps of his lightsaber and he turned back to see his master stumble and half fall, catching himself on one arm and leg. Anakin wasn't sure which of the two of them were the most surprised.

"Master!"

Somehow Obi-Wan brought his lightsaber around in a backwards parry and deflected the bolts, the movement somehow both clumsy and elegant. Before Anakin could get to him, he was forced to spin around and battle several more bounty hunters, his lightsaber a blur of motion that would rival the snap of a sandviper, and just as deadly.

The _twack sizzle_ of blasters and blaster rifles raged all around; a clonetrooper was lying prone on the ground using a dead bounty hunter's body for cover, and taking down his own share of the rapidly-diminishing-in-number group.

By the time Anakin could turn his attention back to his master, Obi-Wan was back on his feet and finishing off one opponent with a quick sweep and thrust, immediately followed by a back handed deflection that sent a blaster bolt into another bounty hunter even as he spun and caught the next bolt just before it found its target.

Anakin had no time to appreciate the lethal dance of the battle, for he caught sight of a blaster bolt on a path for the Jedi's chest; this time, the Jedi's movements were too slow and the path of his lightsaber too erratic. Obi-Wan would not be able to deflect or dodge this one.

"Master!" he screamed, a Force push giving Obi-Wan an extra nudge as he spun away and nearly knocking him off balance, but the push had given his spin enough momentum that the Jedi avoided the bolt. He even managed a grin and nod of thanks at his padawan as the bolt whizzed by barely millimeters away.

Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in and took down the bounty hunter who nearly cut down the young Jedi from behind, distracted as he had been on his master.

"Focus, padawan!" he chided, leaping after another bounty hunter.

In the background, the steady _thwack thwack_ of a commandeered blaster rifle was just as steadily decimating the ranks of the bounty hunters. Alpha was grim faced and deadly, always being mindful of the leaping and spinning Jedi.

In just a few minutes it was over, bounty hunters either dead or scattered; the three Jedi stared at each other. Obi-Wan was panting heavily and a lock of hair hung over a bruised face red with exertion and damp with sweat, while the two who had just arrived looked Holonet perfect. Alpha was already gathering up weapons and eying the Jedi at the same time.

"It is exceedingly good to see you both," Obi-Wan said, sheathing his lightsaber and wiping a shaking hand across his face. The lilt in the voice was the same as was the impish smile, but that was about all that was familiar in this disheveled man who stood before them, nearly swaying on his feet from exhaustion.

Master and padawan exchanged a long glance and a smile; then somehow Anakin had cleared the few feet between them with no knowledge of doing so, to envelope his master in a bear hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of Obi-Wan.

"Really, Anakin," Obi-Wan murmured, but his own eyes were damp as he flashed a grin at his fellow Council member.

Ki-Adi-Mundi returned it, watching the reunion with pleasure. This display of emotion was more than understandable. He felt like cheering himself.

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew you were alive but no one would believe me," Anakin was nearly shouting as he pounded his master's back, oblivious to the hiss of pain that the touch elicited.

"Mmm, there were times I doubted it, myself," Obi-Wan said, pushing Anakin back and holding him at arm's length as he looked the young man over with a concerned master's eye. He wasn't sure he entirely liked what he saw, for the wild elation only overlay a deep grief.

"Jabiim was terribly hard on you, I can tell. It marked you." One of his hands arose and gently touched his padawan's temple, a wordless question in his eyes.

Anakin's eyes fell; how could he speak of those endless weeks, frustration and fear his constant companion… he glanced at Ki-Adi-Mundi and shrugged. He had had more than enough of being told to "let go," let go of his companions, to leave them to certain death, to let go of his master.

"And you, Master?"

Obi-Wan's eyes dimmed and he shook his head in silent refusal. He was not ready to speak of his ordeal, not yet. Having no need of the Force to back him up any longer, he released it and felt fatigue flood him. He had known he would pay a price for drawing on it so heavily in his condition and he was just beginning to feel the toll it would extract.

"Jabiim fell, and only Anakin and a number of clone troops survived," Ki-Adi-Mundi interjected, forestalling further objections from Anakin. He saw that Obi-Wan was unprepared to jump into his story; he needed time. "It is good to see you, Obi-Wan. You had a rather nice funeral. You should have been there."

The two Jedi clasped arms, with Ki-Adi-Mundi peering deep into Obi-Wan's eyes. "You have been ill treated, Obi-Wan, though you fought like one who had not been through such an ordeal as I suspect you endured. Anakin and I arrived in fighters, but I have called in an extraction ship. While we wait for its arrival, may I please have the pleasure of formally returning your padawan to your custody?"

"Hmm," Obi-Wan scratched his chin, "considering how eager you appear to be -," he was interrupted by Anakin's, "Master!" He smiled, and dropped a hand on Anakin's shoulder, the squeeze firm and yet gentle. "I do accept him back, with my thanks and my gratitude for looking after him."

"It is with gratitude I return him to you." The relief was so uncharacteristic of the Jedi that Obi-Wan's eyebrow rose in surprise as Anakin blushed and shrugged noncommittally.

"I gather there is much to speak of," Obi-Wan said, favoring his padawan with a curious look as he massaged one shoulder. "However, we shall have to postpone it until later as I feel rather worn out at the moment. It has been a rather stressful time and I would like nothing more than to wait for our transport and let you two talk. Tell me about my funeral while we wait."

Obi-Wan merely shook his head, no, when his padawan pressed for details of his experience. Passing a hand over his eyes, Obi-Wan seemed to slump and his eyes grew clouded.

"I would much rather not, if you don't mind. It was quite an unpleasant ordeal and I would like to forget about it and just bask in my freedom and the presence of other Jedi. So, who said what about me at my funeral?" If the attempt at humor was a bit forced, both the other Jedi ignored it.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan prompted when neither responded. He looked inquiringly at his padawan, then Ki-Adi-Mundi, perplexed at their silence. "Did no one show up?" His joke fell flat.

"I wasn't there," Anakin admitted, not sure how his master would react. "I said it was a sham and I refused to participate because I knew you were alive. The bond was – well – it was silent all that time, but everyone kept telling me how it should hurt from being severed. They said you were in pain for a while after Master Qui-Gon – and some of the other padawans who lost their masters…."

He was half-afraid to look his master in the eye after this admission, especially with the long silence that ensued. He finally looked up to see a faraway expression in his master's eyes.

Obi-Wan finally blinked and looked at him. "Severing that bond was quite violent and yes, my mind was rather sore for a few days. I tried to keep it from you, but sometimes the pain was so bad…well, I was a bit distant with you I'm sure, when I was trying to make sure none of that came through our forming bond. Well," he cleared his throat, "Ki – were you there or was I sent off on my own?"

"I was indeed as was most of the Council," Ki agreed. "We managed to keep it tasteful, if not quiet. You'd be embarrassed at the tributes, so I'll spare you all that."

"Please do," Obi-Wan agreed hastily.

"It was all we could do to talk Chancellor Palpatine out of a full scale state funeral with scores of dignitaries and enough speeches to make even you bored. Those who could attend did. Senator Amidala of Naboo was there," only Obi-Wan observed Anakin give a slight start at that, "a few other dignitaries, your friends Dex, Didi and Astri…it wasn't too bad a send off when you consider we had nothing to actually symbolically send into the Force. Your friends Garen Muln and Reeft managed to get leave, and of course Bant Eerin and Siri Tachi were there."

"Siri," Obi-Wan whispered, closing his eyes before opening them and swinging his gaze to Anakin, eyes echoing the worry he had seen in hers. "She almost tried to stop me from going, I thought – I teased her about having one of my bad feelings. I know what it's like to have a bad feeling come true…I should contact her and let her know that I – that she was wrong. I came back."

"Why don't you wait and surprise her, and see if she lets you kiss her again," Anakin urged. Ki-Adi-Mundi's eyebrows rose and he stared with interest at Obi-Wan.

"Anakin – I told you before…," Obi-Wan started; then shrugged. Looking at his fellow Council member, he continued, "Anakin seems bound and determined to turn a farewell gesture – a kiss on the forehead – into some grand romantic gesture. Anakin, not only am I a Jedi and Jedi don't do romantic gestures, but I am probably the least likely romantic man you know. You're the one who all but called me a pompous, stuffy windbag some years back."

Anakin had the grace to look embarrassed at that. "No doubt after you called me on some reckless stunt, Master, when I was young and foolish and didn't know to shield properly."

"If I recall, it was not so many years ago…," Obi-Wan wavered, and pressed a hand to his head, offering a wan smile as his face paled. "I do believe I wish to sit down. I think I overexerted myself."

Before he slid to the ground in a boneless heap, Anakin caught him.

Anakin quickly braced his master with an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit, feeling more bone than flesh beneath his hands. Obi-Wan leaned his head against his knees, coughing deeply before looking up with a half apologetic grimace that tried to be a grin.

As Alpha returned with an armful of weapons from the dead bounty hunters, Obi-Wan introduced him to his fellow Jedi with a quiet, "I owe much to this man. I rather doubt I would be alive except for him."

"I could say the same, general," Alpha replied cheerily.

Studying their faces, the young Jedi pulled some emergency rations from his belt and offered some to both former captives, struck by the hollowness of their faces.

"When was the last time you two had any actual food?"

Alpha and Obi-Wan exchanged puzzled looks. "Were we fed anything edible, general?"

"Nothing we could keep down," Obi-Wan said wryly, making a face. "Maggots and poison don't count in my datapad."

_Poison!_

The padawan was just now taking in his master's appearance and not liking what he saw, added to the strange Force energy he had felt from Obi-Wan as they emerged from hyperspace.

For the first time, Anakin looked, really looked at his master and shuddered as he realized the Jedi in front of him was but a shadow of his former self. He gently touched his face, avoiding the faded bruise that purpled one cheek. Marked by brutality, it wasn't the lines of pain etched in his face, but the haunted depths of the eyes that most stirred his emotions.

Where was the customary sparkle? The never far from the surface humor? Now those changeable eyes only held deep shadows within their depths, no matter the surface veneer of humor.

Whatever horrors Obi-Wan had endured, it was far beyond anything Anakin could possibly imagine, to create such obvious internal distress in his always calm and serene master. The only thing keeping his rising fury from erupting was his increasing fear and worry. Whatever stoic Jedi persona he normally presented, his master was essentially a gentle man, one who had been terribly hurt and brutalized. Nothing justified such treatment, not even war.

The padawan itched to hold his master close and soothe the wounds away, but these wounds would not be so easily banished. These wounds could only be healed by Obi-Wan himself.

The strong, steady, reassuring beam of light that was the heart of the bond between them had never been so choked with residual doubt, pain and anger. As gently as a door shutting, the swirling energies withdrew behind shields that kept the knowledge, the pain, locked in the mind of the one who had borne it all, away from the padawan.

_To protect you -_ and Anakin didn't know if it was his heart murmuring the thought or his master's. To protect him from the knowledge, from the truth, Obi-Wan fought a lonely battle all by himself to be whole once more, for it seemed he feared what the knowledge would do to his padawan.

Something snapped within Anakin.

Fury erupted like a volcano: hot, searing, destructive; heedless of anything in its path.

Anakin had a burning need to know _who_ would dare treat _his_ master in such a way – who it was that he would have to hunt down and haul in to justice for his actions. That person would have to pay for his actions, and Anakin was determined to be that means.

"Master – who had you? Who did this to you? Tell me!" Anakin demanded, in his vehemence squatting and grabbing Obi-Wan by the arms.

"Not now, Padawan," Obi-Wan interrupted, shaking his head and trying to pull away. _Face it, accept it, release it_, _then release it once more, and again until it stayed released_– all that could come later, would have to come later. He was free, whole and free, and right now he wanted to leave it behind him. "Anakin, no – later."

"Master!"

"Padawan!" It was a harsh rebuke from Ki-Adi-Mundi, as he crouched by Obi-Wan and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Obi-Wan, you don't have to speak of it yet – you need time to recover and rest."

"Master – tell me! Was it Dooku? At least tell me who." Without realizing it, the apprentice was battering against mental shields, pulses of Force battering and demanding answers from an unwilling mind. Obi-Wan had no fight left in him, not now, not in the company of his fellow Jedi, not when he was finally safe and tired of fighting – tired of resisting.

"Ventress," Obi-Wan whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "It was Asajj Ventress, okay?"

"Ventress! Asajj Ventress?" The venom in Anakin's voice startled both men.

Obi-Wan glanced up sharply and his face grew troubled; Ventress and Anakin had clashed before this. This was one of the reasons why he didn't wish to share it, any of it: the last faint remnants he harbored of pain, of hate, the anger, for it only spread outwards, ripples in a pond. They were his emotions to confront and rid himself of, not something to burden others with.

His eyes met Anakin's – and he shuddered, as taut as a vibrating string.

Anakin's rage was barely controlled and Obi-Wan could see how he fought to restrain it – it was apparent in how he clenched his hands and the way his eyes narrowed. Hard eyes, lips curled in a snarl, a hand poised in the air – Anakin morphed into Ventress, a Ventress who glared at him ready to inflict more pain - and Obi-Wan flinched. He wasn't free, perhaps he never would be.

His hands came up involuntarily to protect himself – and two concerned Jedi were staring in shock at him.

He bowed his head into suddenly shaking hands, shutting himself away from the two men. "Yes. Now you know – now, will you please let it alone – I don't wish to speak of it right now! Please?"

Anakin could only stare at his master's bent head and shudder-wracked body – too stunned at the Jedi's reaction to at first react or even to apologize; then he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan as tremors shook the all too frail body, holding his master close in a comforting embrace. He could feel the distraught Jedi trying to gather the Force around him, to calm his emotions and to regain his center.

There was nothing Anakin could do to help except - hold him. He swallowed hard, full of remorse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into an ear as he turned anguished eyes to a fuming Ki-Adi-Mundi. "I'm sorry, Master."


	33. A Forgiving Man

Obi-Wan had recovered his composure, at least outwardly, as the foursome waited by the fighters for the Temple ship to arrive. Alpha occasionally looked at Anakin and scowled, but the young Jedi seemed oblivious. After his outburst, he had remained all but silent, content to sit with an arm draped over his master's shoulder, and Kenobi apparently content to sit there leaning into the padawan's shoulder with his eyes closed.

_A forgiving man, _Alpha thought, considering his general's apparent near breakdown. The kid Jedi undoubtedly cared deeply for his master, but didn't have sense enough to give the man space to come to terms with his experience.

While the long weeks of brutality were debilitating on them both, their spirits and bodies alike, the Sith mask had elevated the Jedi's torment to an almost unbearable level. At the very mention of it, Kenobi's face would grow painfully still, his eyes bitter and haunted. At the same time, Alpha noticed, his hands would tremble uncontrollably without Kenobi even noticing.

Captivity had proved beyond doubt that Jedi were still emotional beings. They were able to do much and withstand much more than ordinary beings, but even Jedi had limits and Jedi could suffer. Unlike clones, they had a full range of – usually contained and controlled – emotion and triggers. Perhaps that was why Ventress had tried so hard to break the man, for in breaking him, she could also break the Jedi that he also was.

Asajj had tried; how she had tried. Certainly the Jedi had thought she might succeed, there not long before their escape. The desperation in his voice when he had asked to be killed at Alpha's hands rather than to be twisted had initially stunned Alpha to silence. His general would not ask this lightly.

He had heard the half buried note of shame underlying the request, and understood it for the Jedi's revulsion at asking another to put his life on the line for him. Kenobi knew the cost of obedience should Alpha do as asked, but his fear of what he might become had been strong enough to request such a sacrifice.

If that hadn't cemented his respect for his general, the way he would not allow himself to look away during Alpha's torture before him would have. If anything, Alpha thought Kenobi suffered just as much if not more, for the Jedi might well have ended it by capitulating, surrendering all that he had just to save Alpha. But he remained silent; only the anguish in his eyes spoke for him.

Alpha still didn't understand how the mask caused such agony; he did understand the torment it inflicted on the one wearing it.

Then, the Jedi's nearly inaudible confession that the mask had so twisted him that he was getting a perverse pleasure out of Alpha's torture - Kenobi had truly been under the delusion that he was all but lost to eternal damnation, his "darkness," so convinced that he had apologized. Alpha knew better. The admission itself, if not the apology, proved that, and the slow tears – no, Kenobi had not been twisted, not at all, not deep within himself where his true self resided.

That had been Ventress's final tactic; she had finally realized that the worst torture one could inflict on the Jedi was to make him a participant by default, a spectator to a scene he had the power to stop and yet did not. A lesser man may have broken under that knowledge, but somehow Kenobi had drawn Alpha's pain into himself. Somehow, for the mask had all but taken his general's ability to reach his strength, his Force.

There were times Alpha wondered if the Jedi knew his strength was as much his own as the Force he believed it to be. Strength of will, strength of character and strength of stubborn conviction came from inside.

The essential gentleness and compassion that was Kenobi's defining characteristic was what fueled the Jedi's shame when watching his fellow captive's torment, what led to anger and rage. Alpha understood that what his general feared above all else was to give

in and act on those feelings, and thought himself tarnished for being unable to banish them.

While he was able to find some peace in sleep, Kenobi was probing, always seeking to defeat the mask that had initially driven the Jedi nearly to panicked insanity, from what Alpha had gathered. In those first – days, hours – time meant nothing there in the cell – there had been few coherent words from his general, only gasps and strangled screams that had eventually diminished and died away.

The silence had been broken in typical Kenobi fashion: with humor.

"If I were dead, shouldn't I feel a lot better?"

The general didn't provide much explanation, only explaining that its effect all but negated the Force, making the wearer doubt his own sanity, twisting the mind so that one might even think – might – that watching another suffer was – was – and his voice had trailed off. Alpha could feel the shame and self-loathing spilling from him; perhaps it was the way the general bowed his head or even perhaps the way he couldn't finish his words.

How a mask could so torture the wearer that even a Jedi was driven half-crazy Alpha didn't understand, but it had and it wasn't until the man had been sufficiently overwhelmed to stop fighting had the Jedi been able to assume control. His general had mentioned primal brain and reflexes, the unconscious and conscious mind, but what it came down to was that Kenobi had found a way to face the mask.

What had gone unspoken was that he thought he had figured out a way to ultimately defeat it as well, but it had been apparent that it would be neither easy nor quick.

In his general's harsh breathing, occasional stifled cry, or eventually, soft sounds of satisfaction, Alpha knew how the Jedi strove to overcome the wrenching pain of reaching for his Force and the toll it was taking.

They did not speak of it, as with many things, for fear of being overheard, but they had served together long enough they did not always need words to communicate.

"You need to rest, general," he said once. It was a while before Kenobi answered him, and then the answer was short and typical of the man.

"I'll rest when we're free from here. I can - touch it now. I'm trying to use it – oh!" Kenobi bit off the exclamation, but a low moan escaped him.

"General!" His worry mounted as the minutes dragged by with no sound, no response, then finally there came a ragged breath of a reply.

"Don't worry, Alpha. I'm not going to kill myself trying, or what's the point of trying to find a way to escape?"

For a moment, there was silence, and then suddenly, inexplicably, both men started to laugh. It wasn't much of a laugh, more like a snicker, but Alpha could almost see the twisted grin on Kenobi's face.

It had been oddly reassuring.

Now, he wasn't so reassured. Now, with freedom had come awareness that freedom had not ended the Jedi's ordeal.

Jedi were known for detachment; clones were not much different, but Alpha had come to realize that Jedi chose to distance themselves from emotion and pain while a clone could not do otherwise. The difference between the two was simple – one was choice and one was programming, just like the devotion to duty.

Yet now it was clear that the conscious decisions of the mind could be eroded by pain and torment inflicted on the body.

Alpha hadn't thought much one way or the other about being a clone before, but as one it made it much easier to come out of such an experience relatively unscathed mentally. Clones just weren't wired like normal sentients, and he was happy that it was so.

When he had fought free of captivity, he was free. When Obi-Wan Kenobi fought free, he found himself still chained in bars of memories and bruises.

At least, for now, he seemed at peace, asleep against his padawan's shoulder.

The third Jedi stood watch, his back stiff and uncompromising. Alpha knew now he was Ki-Adi-Mundi, a member of the Jedi Council, like the general. His outraged disapproval at the young Jedi's behavior had nearly caused the senior Jedi to yank the padawan away from his master, but before his hand had clutched the shoulder, the young man was hugging his master and Obi-Wan was leaning into it.

Lips tightly pressed together, the older Jedi's hand instead had gently descended onto one of the general's shoulders and rested there.

It was a touching picture, considering the aura of dispassionate emotion the Jedi normally cultivated. Close proximity to a Jedi, in a confined space, under horrible circumstances, had given Alpha a different view of the Jedi than merely working by their side ever had. They were far more complex than they let themselves be perceived as, and his respect for them as sentient beings was now as deep for them as commanders and warriors.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. The Cerean Jedi glanced at him, noting the man's fierce attention on the two Jedi behind them.

"Kenobi's gratitude to you is apparent," the Council member spoke quietly after his own assessment of the two oblivious men. "On behalf of the Jedi Order and Jedi Council, I extend our gratitude as well, and our thanks for being at his side and for whatever assistance you provided him. You appear reasonably well – are you?"

The clone trooper's eyes flickered to his general before returning to the Council member.

"Better than the general, sir. He was Ventress's focus all along, and then she used some kind of – torture mask – on him. I gather it was extremely – disturbing."

Alpha quietly relayed part of the story, but before he finished, the sound of a descending ship drew their attention.

Though Kenobi seemed asleep, his eyes closed and breathing even, he suddenly rose to his feet at the sound, one hand on his padawan's shoulder to steady himself.

"Master – should you…?" The young man touched his master's arm in concern, rising to his feet nearly as quickly.

"Yes, I must," the older Jedi replied, drawing himself upright and away from his padawan's offer of a supporting hand. With a nod of thanks, he accepted Anakin's offer of his cloak and wrapped himself in its warmth. Despite being dwarfed in it, it did not make him look small and vulnerable, for he was projecting an air of confidence and authority that was stronger.

The hatch opened and two young Jedi strode down the ramp, breaking into nervous smiles as they saw Master Kenobi waiting with the others. Both were senior padawans from the length of their braids, awed at being given this opportunity; they bowed in greeting. They must have radiated some uncertainty, for Kenobi turned on the easy charm he used with planetary troops, diplomats or civilians, a charm that relaxed the uneasy and put the other at ease.

"He hasn't lost it," Anakin muttered quietly, shaking his head in amusement and understanding. "He's got them half convinced it was just a crazy mistake that ended up with him being declared dead and they've totally forgotten to think about what he went through."

Alpha had expected nothing less.

* * *

Padawan Terzah had given voice to a very un-Jedi-like whoop of delight upon hearing the news that Master Kenobi was confirmed alive with Master Mundi and Padawan Skywalker going to his rescue. So often the bearer of bad tidings, he was one of the principal Jedi spreading the good news, once permission was granted.

Reactivating the Jedi's records had brought a grin to his face that lasted for some time and earned him some curious looks.

He really had only calmed himself when he found he was one of two padawans being sent with a rescue ship that would bring the Jedi home, while he and his companion would pilot Ki-Adi-Mundi and Anakin Skywalker's fighters back to the Temple.

_Please let him be okay…he'll be hurt, of course, he can't not be after all this time…he must be okay for the Temple saw no need to send a healer…_

Terzah gulped as soon as he saw Master Kenobi standing with the other Jedi and a clone trooper. When he had last seen the man, he had been relaxed and at peace, and all too willing to help a padawan master an especially intricate piece of diplomacy. Now that same Jedi was below him, dressed in civilian clothing and pale, looking like he had been through hell. In a sense, he had been, he had been held captive, Terzah knew, and from the look of him, the rumors of torture were all too true.

Force, what the Jedi must have undergone in those few months to have lost so much weight. His clothing hung off a frame that suggested underneath was little more than a body reduced almost to a skeleton. The suggestion of banked power was absent, muscles all but wasted away. His normal tidy appearance was but a memory, his trim beard and hair grown uneven and ill-kempt, and his eyes – those expressive eyes were sunken and the sparkle submerged under a sense of haunted pain.

Terzah found himself staring, unable to fathom just what could have been done to the Jedi to so change him, and mentally kicking himself all the while for speculating. He almost felt ill as his imagination conjured up what could have reduced such a healthy, strong man to one almost frail in appearance.

Almost in response to his shocked scrutiny, Master Kenobi seemed to grow still and Terzah almost blinked as his mind scolded him for overstating the man's appearance. Ill, worn, exhausted, yes, but not frail. Never frail. Why had he thought that?

"Padawan Terzah – how's Diplomacy going?" Master Kenobi immediately asked as the two padawans reached the end of the ramp and bowed. "Padawan – Shilee, if I'm not mistaken, good to see you, too."

"Sir…with your help, I did quite well in Diplomacy. You made me understand how to look at it…" Terzah clamped his mouth shut as soon as he saw Padawan Skywalker's grin and shake of the head. He had been running on as if Master Kenobi was truly interested in Padawan Terzah's classes when all he must be interested in was getting back to the Temple and the healers. "Sorry, sir," he apologized hastily.

"Enthusiasm is not misplaced, padawan, if tempered with, er, a sense of decorum appropriate to the situation." For a moment, the sparkle had returned to Master Kenobi's eyes, and Terzah relaxed with a, "yes, sir. Welcome back."

"Thank you, Terzah." The Jedi smiled briefly.

"Master," Anakin interrupted with a grin. "Seeing as this is not social hour at the Temple, Republic space, or somewhere totally safe, I really think we should get onboard and get you back to the healers."

"Healers – do I look like I need healers?" A properly horrified look crossed his face, followed by an equally determined one on the face of his padawan.

"Yes." Anakin was firm, earning him a sideway glare from his master's eyes.

"Healers! Blast it," Obi-Wan muttered. "You aren't going to give me any choice, are you?"

"None," both the other Jedi chimed in unison.

With a shrug of resignation, Obi-Wan nodded to the two padawans, "I am rather weary, so if you two will excuse me, I fear I must risk my life further by getting on this ship and allowing my padawan to pilot us home."

"Coming, Anakin?"


	34. Facing the Past

"Weeza goin' home!" Anakin gave his best Jar Jar Binks imitation as he disappeared into the cockpit.

Obi-Wan winced as Anakin turned with a cheery attempt at an apology as though suddenly remembering that though both rather liked the excitable Gungan, his master was just one of many who preferred the exuberant Representative from Naboo in small – very small – doses.

"Sorry, Master. You have to admit, after our first mission when I yelled that and you threatened to glue my lips together with the Force I haven't been so bold."

"You didn't?" Ki-Adi-Mundi shook his head and leaned closer to whisper into Obi-Wan's ear, "Well done, though. With your padawan no doubt rushing us off planet without ceremony, I'm going forward and call in your safe pick up to the Council. Once we're in hyperspace, Anakin and I will come back and join you two. For now, rest."

A hand on his arm stopped him short. Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan asked the question the answer he dreaded hearing the answer to.

"Ki. How many?"

"Obi-Wan, I don't think –," he relented at the Jedi's steady stare. "Only your padawan and several thousand clone troops survived Jabiim. Another twelve Jedi died elsewhere."

Obi-Wan's face went white and he swallowed hard before nodding.

Gently, Ki gave a sketchy outline of the events on Jabiim, concluding with, "You should be proud of your padawan, Obi-Wan. He conducted himself as we would expect of the padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi. You have trained him well and with you back to guide him on his final steps – he should be ready for the trials soon, a testament to your guidance as well as his innate talent."

"I am…very proud," the Jedi whispered, his eyes seeming to look beyond the bulkhead to his padawan up front. No matter the vexations, frustrations and fits the boy had given him, he had always been proud of him. His decisions, actions and emotions were what continued to worry him. "How has he handled – other things?"

_Other things_ being the fall of Jabiim, Obi-Wan's absence: it was clear to Ki-Adi-Mundi what the question was. How was his padawan's mental and emotional state?

"Volatile," the Jedi smirked, elaborating somewhat. "It was difficult for him, Obi-Wan. You two will need to talk, but later. Neither of you are ready in my opinion – you're absolutely exhausted, not to mention you're not in the best of shape, either. You don't think you're up to it, do you?"

Obi-Wan merely shook his head with a toneless, "No, not yet. I'm sorry, Ki."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Obi-Wan. No one but you expects you to be yourself for some time yet. Give yourself a chance to recover like you'd give any one else. Now, once I figure how much your padawan will push this ship past the safety limit, I can let you know how soon before you're home."

Obi-Wan shuddered. "Do me a favor and don't keep me informed. I don't think I even want to know."

"Why, Master Kenobi – fear and all that Jedi stuff." Ki actually winked at his fellow Jedi as Obi-Wan managed a weak chuckle.

"You wouldn't say that if you'd flown with Anakin as much as I have," he called after the retreating back. He caught Alpha's smirk as he settled into his seat. "It's true. Why does no one believe me," he muttered morosely.

Riflor was fast disappearing beneath them as the ship aimed for space, next stop Coruscant. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, Obi-Wan slumped in his seat, for the moment feeling somewhat strengthened by both the prior rations and his regained connection to the Force, inconsistent though it was, and proximity to other Force users.

The two ex-captives sat silently in the passenger compartment, until Obi-Wan looked at Alpha and sat up straight with a sigh, leaning forward to face him, his hands bracing himself on his knees.

"Every experience changes us, Alpha. I don't know yet whether ultimately it'll be for the good or a step backwards. I do forgive her, yet at times…anger reawakens and threatens to replace it. My forgiveness thus is incomplete at best; insincere at worst. I wish I could forget everything… but I can't. Not when some part of my body protests each move I make, or when I remember the wounds now hidden under your clothing but all too vivid in my mind's eye…"

…_when I see the pain of my padawan in his eyes. Anakin – he knew I was alive, he knew - how that knowledge must have worn on him. He hides from me, as well, but I know – I know how hard it is for him to do nothing when every cell in his body is demanding he take action._

"… all I can hope for is that I can find true forgiveness within me for what she did to you, to me, to the both of us. I hope you can forgive me for doing nothing but watch while she tortured you – I could have stopped it, I know, but the price – I couldn't…."

Force, he was so tired, he just couldn't find the words to go on. Tired – relieved - he wondered if he sounded in any way as incoherent as he felt, his mind and his emotions a jumble.

"General, you worry too much," Alpha returned gruffly. Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at him, remembering all the times those very words had been spoken to him over the years.

"You Jedi have too much heart in you for your own good, even if you keep your hearts hidden. We clones don't worry, we don't blame, and even if we did, you did all that you could. As did I. You Jedi might wish the rest of the galaxy to think you're invincible, but I know you're not, and I respect you all the more for it. You're still a man and I saw you suffer right alongside me. Forgive you, general? No sir, I am honored to have been at your side, even in a cell."

Impulsively, the two clasped hands.

"Thanks, Alpha," Obi-Wan said. A hint of a grin teased around his mouth, then. "Your lack of imagination was of immense help."

"General, it was a pleasure to serve with you. Will you be telling them everything that happened there?" Obi-Wan was silent, staring at his clasped hands before realizing that Alpha thought he was ignoring the question.

"I don't know," his general finally admitted, a shadow crossing over his face. He restrained a barely visible shudder and drew into himself, tucking his arms within the sleeves of his cloak. "Yoda, yes, probably Mace. There's no need for anybody else to know everything. Some things I'd rather forget myself. The Force has not passed judgment on me, nor would the Jedi, but - I would just as soon – we'll see. What about you? Will you be okay?"

"I'm an ARC Trooper, sir. It's over for me. I won't carry any scars like you will."

"Scars heal and the Force accepts the pain. I, too, shall be fine."

"What about your memories, sir?"

"Memories have no power to harm, once the emotion associated with them has been released. I look forward to a long period of meditation to regain my focus. I am sorry to admit I am not entirely free of anger, but being aware of it is at least a step in the direction I need to go. As often as I release it – it floods back. It's hard – very hard – to rise above it, but I will persevere until I am successful, until I can be again the Jedi I wish to be."

The Jedi's face was quiet, but his eyes were focused in the distance. His admission had not been easy, from what the clonetrooper knew of his general. Alpha had no doubt that his general would make peace with his memories, but he was sure it was not going to be easy or quick.

"I'm sure Ventress will be captured and punished soon enough, sir."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed. "I hope – she can be rehabilitated. She has suffered so much pain. She's twisted, not evil, from tragedy. That's one of the things that angers me, I think – brutality is all she knows and so she passes it on, knowing nothing different. She could have been a great Jedi under different circumstances, had she known the light, but I fear all she has known is darkness. I'd like for her to finally see light."

"You truly wish that for her? After what she did? I've seen the marks on you, general; heard you coughing out your guts from poison and heard the crunch of breaking bones. I've seen your blood spilled as casually as I might upend a canteen of water. Yet you want to rehabilitate her?"

Obi-Wan only looked confused at the question. "Of course. It is for ones such as she that one must have compassion, though I admit it's not easy." His eyes suddenly hid a flash of hot, bitter pain. No, it wasn't easy, not at all, he knew deep within his heart: a heart that battled within itself.

_Release the hate, release the anger_. _Be the Jedi you wish to be_.

"She is not evil, even if her actions make it seem so. At the moment I'm not Jedi enough not to hate her at some level, to be _angry _at what she has done - and what was done to her. I have a choice: to rise above it or give in to it. I choose not to hate; I cannot hate her or those who helped make her what she is, for to hate anyone is to hate everyone. Ventress was hurt at a young age and never learned to channel her feelings appropriately. Just as one cannot just love the lovable, one must love the unlovable, have compassion even for those who show none."

"Your padawan appears to have a different opinion."

"He does," Obi-Wan agreed; his eyes pensive. "I hope the two of them never meet again – you do know he had one encounter with her some few months back? I came close to losing him then. I lost a lot of good men as well. He took off in a foolish and reckless manner that almost had fatal consequences for him. I was relieved to see him return safely, though of course, I had to be stern with him."

The incident had to go in his official report since it had led to the loss of a ship and a company of clones. The Council had been displeased, of course, especially since it mirrored his padawan's rashness in rushing against Dooku against his master's express command, but the Chancellor had praised Anakin highly for his initiative. It had ended in stalemate: no reprimand but no favorable evaluation and step towards taking the trials.

Mastery of self, of restraint, had not come yet to the young Jedi, as it must.

"I fear my padawan still lacks a certain – maturity. He takes things far too personally when people close to him are hurt and rarely stops to see the other side of things. He is not a reflective person by nature and is quick to react to things without thinking them through."

_I was quick to react like that once, too, but I learned better_;_ he will, as well_, Obi-Wan thought. He was pulled from his thoughts by approaching footsteps.

"Special session of Council and they need another Councilor," Ki said, returning to the small communications console in the passenger area and beckoning Obi-Wan to join him.

"You're the easiest to get a hold of. Come, you take the seat and I'll stand behind you."

"Need a quorum, eh and they don't fear for my mental health?" Obi-Wan slid into the seat, shaking his head and found the smile he intended to force, if necessary, came involuntarily as the scene solidified before him as Ki activated the hologram controls.

Starved senses drank in the sight – so much light and color that he didn't even notice the Jedi on the other end carefully studying him, quiet countenances reflecting muted pleasure and understated relief.

Violet light mixed with the gold of a breaking sunrise illuminated the windows as soft beams splayed over the tiled floor of the Council chamber. For a man who had seen nothing but the inside of his cell for several months other than a short period of time in space among the stars, the sight was almost overwhelming, radiating peace and serenity to one lacking in either for far too long a period.

A soft guttural cough caught his attention. To Obi-Wan's utter amazement, the Council members present all bowed their heads to him as Ki-Adi-Mundi's hand descended on his shoulder and lightly gripped it as he spoke softly, "You see – you were missed and warmly welcomed back."

"It is good to see you, Obi-Wan," Mace Windu intoned softly; the first to speak as head of the Council.

"It is no less of a pleasure for me," Obi-Wan said, trying not to stutter.

"Are you well?"

That was a question he too pondered. He was far from well, and yet, far from ill health just by the mere fact that he was alive, free, and somewhat restored to the Force. Fatigue, mental and physical, overwhelmed any other consideration at the moment.

Carefully, he answered, "I will be. I have much healing to do, but I am whole and in time I shall be fully recovered. I know of our defeat on Jabiim and the terrible losses we suffered there. We have lost so many…," he faltered, thinking of all the Jedi and clones lost on that unhappy planet.

He might very well have lost Anakin, but a chance of fate, the Chancellor's request that Anakin lead the evacuation of Jabiim, had stood between Anakin's death and Anakin's survival. Accidental it may have been, but Obi-Wan would always owe Palpatine something for that unexpected gift.

"Lost many good Jedi, indeed. Fought bravely and well, honored always their memories will be. But most grateful I am – we are – that among those dead you are no longer counted."

At this unexpected verbal expression from Yoda, echoed by the others, Obi-Wan could only murmur his gratitude for their welcome. To cover his emotions, he asked about the meeting's agenda, only to have several of the members smile and shake their heads in gentle amusement. Then, and only then, did it dawn on Obi-Wan that there was no real meeting underway, they had gathered expressly to greet him.

"Overwhelmed you are, young one, hide it you cannot. Tired you are, hmm?" The eyes that could be sharp and discerning were now soft and gentle.

"Somewhat," he admitted. Behind him, Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded in agreement of this assessment as his hand rested reassuringly on the freed Jedi's shoulder.

"Get some rest, Obi-Wan," Mace finally advised. It was not meant as a suggestion, yet he would not make it a command, feeling that Obi-Wan would acquiesce without protest.

* * *

Even though Ki-Adi-Mundi had prepared them, he hadn't expected Obi-Wan to look so, well, battered. Sunken eyes in dark sockets contrasted to the pale face bearing scars of crusted blood inexpertly rubbed off. The pleasant countenance was marred by lines of exhaustion and pain, by the all too unsubtle signs of ill treatment.

They should have known to send a healer with the ship, yet it had seemed time was of the imperative and no healer had been immediately available. Still, Obi-Wan and his clone companion had been wrestling a failing ship that was under attack to a safe landing and fighting off a band of bounty hunters before the two Jedi arrived, so perhaps he merely looked worse than he was.

Mace had hid his dismay and shock at Obi-Wan's appearance, but the entire Council had shared his feeling. He had felt the ripple in the Force, as well as the wave of good feeling and healing directed outwards, and now he could see Obi-Wan all but faltering in front of his eyes. Considering what the man had gone through – must have gone through – it was no wonder.

At Obi-Wan's minute brushing away gesture, Mace frowned. "You're on medical leave, Obi-Wan, if you didn't already know that. One look at yourself and you would agree."

"If it's anything like I feel, I'd rather not, thank you."

No one but Obi-Wan grinned at the comment.

* * *

Obi-Wan sighed as his tired grin faded away. Force knew he was tired on so many levels; his near break down on Riflor proved he was in less than optimum shape. His body needed to heal; his mind needed the relaxation only immersion in the Force could give.

Most important to his peace of mind, he needed to rid himself of the lingering bouts of anger at Ventress. He didn't want to hate her, but a part of him still did: a primal part that had been hurt and would take time to heal. He chose not to accept that hate, chose to let it go, but release was not complete. He would not be whole until his forgiveness was complete and the poison was gone from him entirely.

"Anakin and I will see that he doesn't use up all his strength," Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke up, from behind Obi-Wan's shoulder. "We shall contact you once we break out of hyperspace – I understand our coordinates are set."

After the standard words of dismissal, Ki-Adi-Mundi turned and shook his head at Obi-Wan. "He is right, you know. I can pull rank on you if I must."

With a weary gesture of surrender, Obi-Wan nodded. He would find a way to get cleaned up and then he would relax – actually relax, close his eyes, and sleep. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since his last leave, before leaving for Jabiim.

"We've got some hot food and strong tea for you," Anakin announced, coming in and waving down the small folding table currently upright against the bulkhead before setting down a tray. Just in case his master was thinking of making some remark about "trivial use of the Force," he explained, "It's hot and I'm sure you wouldn't want me to spill this over you."

"Do you wish me to say it, Anakin?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but a grin danced in the depths of his eyes.

"No, I do not," he said mock-fiercely. He gazed at his master and an answering glint came into his eyes and he gave his best Obi-Wan Kenobi sigh. "But if it makes you feel better…"

"That's better then." The two Jedi looked at each other, Obi-Wan grinning and Anakin waiting, until Obi-Wan finally added, "Thanks, Anakin" and helped himself to a cup of tea. He gazed innocently at his padawan.

"Is your padawan always this disrespectful to you, Obi-Wan?" Ki-Adi-Mundi turned a severe look on the padawan.

"Oh, he's usually worse," Obi-Wan returned; then burst out laughing at the expression on Anakin's face. The padawan was looking between the two masters, both grinning at him, and decided for once to keep his mouth shut. The reason was apparent; he was sending a thought through the bond that had Obi-Wan nearly choking on his tea.

_Didn't I hear that Qui-Gon called you an 'impudent brat' most of the time?_ Anakin's face was perfectly composed, but the bond was shaking with his laughter.

_And who told you that, my insolent padawan? One of my so-called friends, I presume_.

"To recovered health," Anakin toasted, ignoring the question.

Despite his high spirits and apparent health departing Riflor, Obi-Wan's captivity had taken its toll on the Jedi's stamina and strength. It surprised none of them when field rations, soup, and a too-long empty stomach rejected each other, and Obi-Wan bolted for the 'fresher with scant ceremony not long after entering hyperspace.

He was filling a glass of water when Alpha brushed past him, grimacing. He grinned weakly in sympathy and moved just outside the doorway.

"I see you are still quick to follow where I lead," Obi-Wan quipped, rifling through the medpac he'd grabbed upon exiting. He pulled out a packet. He looked again; there was only one. "Pity," he sighed under his breath as he mixed the powder into the glass.

"Ah, here, this should help settle our stomachs; hand me another glass if you would." He handed the glass to Alpha in exchange for the second glass. Half a drink would help neither one of them, so there was no point in letting Alpha know this one was undoctored; he would only attempt to share with him and neither would benefit. He, at least, might be able to use the Force to settle his stomach.

A wave of dizziness swept through him before he could even try. He braced himself against the bulkhead with one hand, telling Alpha to relay that he would out shortly. He clutched his drink as another wave of dizziness washed through him.

His stomach was still crawling though there was nothing left in it, his head was pounding and his fatigue was overwhelming. He shivered as a cold sweat broke over him. He had known he would pay a high price for his pull on the Force, though how much of his bodily reaction was due to captivity and how much to overuse of the Force he wasn't able to discern.

Would these have been the physical symptoms when the muscle maggots began - no. _No!_

_Focus on the here and now_. Yes, he would do well to remember Qui-Gon's lectures.

Here, now, he was safe. Here, now, it was over.

Here, now – he remembered staring down at the buried hilt of a vibroblade centered in a spreading pool of red and a choked sob escaped him – here, now, he needed no reminders of what he had endured, not the clothing, not the memories, not the quiet concern he could feel radiating from the other two Jedi – "I'm strong – I'm not an initiate," he moaned, clutching the glass of water he still held. "I can face it. It's over, behind me now – it's time to move forward, Kenobi."

The glass shattered and drops of blood marked where the shards cut into his hands. Palms upright, hands bent, a cup of bone and flesh that would soon overflow with red, for it never stopped. Blood, always more blood…shouldn't he have run out of blood long ago?

Blood…pooling at his feet…sliding…slithering…always more to follow….

He fell to his knees and cradled his head in his hands. _Breathe, Kenobi_, he admonished himself. _You were strong then…why fall apart now? Nice, deep breaths_. Eventually, his heart rate slowed and the tears that had threatened to spill forth had been blinked away.

"You okay, Master?" Anakin pushed the door open; his eyes narrowed at the sight of his master crouched on the floor with blood dripping from his hand and pieces of glass all around, fresh smears of red outlining where fingers had pressed against his face.

"I – broke a glass," Obi-Wan admitted, a bit sheepishly as Anakin wordlessly took an arm and hauled his master upright and examined the hand carefully. The cut was deep, but it was only a cut.

"Go wash while I pick up the pieces," Anakin finally commanded, shaking his head as he watched Obi-Wan head into the refresher. He could tell his master was just about at the end of his strength, for there was no objection. He heard the water run and then Obi-Wan stuck his head out with a quiet, "I'm going to wash up as much as I can here. Would you see if there's any clean clothing anywhere on this ship?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath as Anakin nodded and hesitantly left, looking back over his shoulder as if reassure himself that his master was truly okay.

He wasn't, not truly, but he knew how to get there – all Jedi did.

Face your fears, face your pain. Face your failures and face your doubts. Hide from nothing, for in the dark recesses of the mind, hidden secrets festered.

Face his captivity, face his treatment and face himself. Only by facing it could he release it. He would get there; he just didn't know how long it would take.

He wasn't ready. Not yet. But there was something he could do, for Anakin.

So he found a weak smile in him, for his padawan's peace of mind, a smile that was returned.

During his captivity, his escape, and now after his rescue, he had been focused internally, for the day when freedom came – in death or in life – and he could face whomever came for him with his head held high and his conscience clear, no matter how bruised his heart or body.

Now, his rescue assured and now on his way home to the Temple, Obi-Wan was sure he needed little more than to wash all signs of his torturous experience off him – the blood, the sweat, the ooze of infection. Strip off the stench with washing; strip off the memories with meditation, but stripping himself of all that he had endured was far more elusive.

He wasn't whole; he wasn't healed. He hadn't yet fully faced what he wanted to forget, and until he faced it, he could not release it.

He had conquered his hate of Ventress, but he hadn't yet fully released his hatred at what she had done to him, to Alpha – nor had he conquered his anger.

In a while he would take this opportunity to enter into a deep healing trance for his body and immerse himself in the warm waves of the Force to heal his mind of hate and anger during the trip. Luckily, adjoining the refresher was a very small cabin with two fold out bunks, for the small 'fresher had only the most minimal of necessities with barely room to maneuver.

Obi-Wan found a bowl and filled it with hot water, rummaged for an absorbent cloth, and carried the items to a small shelf in the cabin with a looking glass above it.

He stripped his borrowed top off and reached for the wetted cloth. Nerves still somewhat jumpy, ready to react to the slightest provocation, he whirled at a movement only to realize it was his reflection in a looking glass.

The moment of truth beckoned: he had to face both himself and what he feared to face.

Fighting the urge to turn away, to close his eyes, he looked at what was before him - and a stranger looked back. _Who?_ his mind whispered as a finger reached forward, and one reached back.

Gaunt, scarred, pale – his eyes traced each scar, each bruise, and each healing wound. That jagged half-healed rip was where she – _don't remember, don't remember_, his mind whispered – and that bruise lay over the bone that had been – _I don't want to remember, not yet_. He was a shadow of the man he had once been; a Jedi who didn't want yet to face the truth.

His eyes, he wondered what he would see reflected in his eyes, and he slowly raised them to meet those of the man in the glass. He had seen those eyes once before. They were the eyes of a padawan who had just held his dying master in his arms only hours before, eyes with comprehension slow to come, of numbness slow to slip away.

Sad eyes. Grieving for a world where such abominations were known and practiced on other sentient life.

Weary eyes. Eyes that had seen too much and found its limit long ago.

Hopeful eyes. The eyes of a man that had seen the worst that another being could do to another; a man who hoped to find the twisted woman who had inflicted all this pain on him because he knew it all arose from her old pain, twisted and evil. The eyes of a man determined to search for that nearly lost soul. He would find her, and he would see that her pain was lifted, for she could have been he had he lost his way. She could have been Anakin, had he not been found and trained.

With that last realization, the last aching remnants of hate drained into the Force to leave him leaning against the bulkhead for support. He once thought he had renounced hate forever, when he cast it aside and replaced it with the Force as he hung in the melting pit core in Theed. He was wrong; its insidious tendrils had taken root far too deep inside him without him ever realizing it.

_I did hate her; I was angry. I – still do, I still am angry but I no longer hate her. I know better. Forgive me?_ his mind cast his cry into the Force as he tried to stop trembling, searching in the mirror for the Jedi he had been before this so he could reclaim him.

He was still studying the man who studied him back when a perfunctory knock preceded Anakin's entrance. "Not your size, but clean…" Obi-Wan felt the ripples of distress as Anakin stared at him, his bundle of clothing forgotten, and his sentence unfinished.

"What did she do to you!" It wasn't a question; it was an outraged hiss that pulled Obi-Wan back to this moment and yet cast him back into that cell.

"Anakin." He half-raised a hand to stop his padawan: he couldn't do this, talk about it, re-live it again.

"What – did – she – do – to you?"

_Do_? _Vibroblades – fists – feet, he remembered them all. Poison – drugs – standing in his own filth and blood. Cuts – gouges – incisions…anything that elicited pain; if it brought screams or moans, so much the better, if it didn't, only intensifying until it did…._

"Do?" He kept his voice calm as he resumed washing, first one arm, then the other, willing himself not to feel the wash of memories. "Various unpleasant things as you no doubt see."

The cloth was at his chest now, washing away the feel of her hands with its long nails, the rips in his skin as her blade pressed against it, the bruises from blows that could not be blocked…

…_the gentle dance of lightsabers caressing his skin, his skin puckering and reddening as hair sizzled and ignited in brief spurts of flame, where just one infinitesimal miscalculation would flay the skin from his bones._

_Vibroblades poking, twisting, sliding between ribs and scarring veins – never actually thrusting into an organ or an artery – no, for Ventress wanted him alive, for some unfathomable reason he didn't know at the time._

_Worse, it had been even worse, when the blades were dull. Sharp blades thrust and cut, sliced easily through skin and muscle. The dull blades, though – they tore as they were thrust in, rasped, and ripped – gaping wounds with ragged edges, bleeding wounds, lingering wounds that resisted healing. _

_Wounds that oozed with infection._

"She tortured you." An agonized growl.

_Pain…sharp…pain…throbbing…pain…curled up in agony except that chained one could no more curl up than resist…_

"Yes." The cloth rubbed harder, the skin first paling then reddening under the touch.

Hands clenched tight at his side, eyes angry and demanding, his padawan said slowly and distinctly, "Tell me."

The cloth rubbed even harder"No." _I can't_.

"I want to know just what she did to you, Master!" Anakin was angry, too angry again. With a flash of insight, Obi-Wan could feel that his padawan was building up to an explosion that could lead anywhere – to his leaving, to track Ventress down, to make her – pay?

"No!" The response was sharp, harsh like his breathing had been, instinctive.

The cloth was squeezed tight in his fist, clenched to his heart, and water trickled through his fingers, trickled down his ribs and wounded flesh: warm, ceaseless, unending ….

_Moisture; he could feel it still: of blood dripping, falling, sometimes streaming like an free flowing river… the sour taste of vomit in his throat, his mouth from the hot sharp stabs of cramping inside as intestines coiled in angry rejection of the poison coursing though his veins… tears dampening his cheeks, tears that the man could not restrain but the Jedi could ignore because his tears, like his blood, like his vomit were not of him, but torn from him by others…._

Without realizing it, Obi-Wan whimpered, his fingers clenching and unclenching. For the moment, he was back in the cell, back in her hands. Hands touching him, hands twisting, hands punching: "no," he moaned, "no – no."

Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders, forced him to twist around and his eyes to focus outwards. Anakin was glaring at him, his fingers curling so tightly into Obi-Wan's shoulder that he could feel the tips of the nails, crushing almost to the bone… he had thought himself freed from the pain but the torture didn't end, it just continued, no matter how he bit his tongue, no matter how he screamed…

…and Anakin saw the flash of fear in Obi-Wan's eyes, the sob that caught in his throat and the involuntary attempt to evade his hands. Aghast, Anakin dropped his hands, the pulse beating in his throat as he stared at his master, too shaken for the moment to say or do anything. That almost unnatural serenity was back again, but he hadn't imagined it.

For a moment, Obi-Wan had flinched, actually almost backed away from his padawan as if Anakin was continuing the torture he had thought himself freed from, and now he had turned away from Anakin, stood with head bowed. The Force had been agitated, swirling in frenetic circles during the clash; now, it had had fallen silent: waiting and watching to see which Jedi wrested control of it for whatever purpose.

Anakin's eyes widened with pain and regret, shocked into silence by precipitating such a violent reaction within his master. Even worse, it was for the second time. If Ventress herself had poised the man on the edge of the precipice, it was his padawan who nearly sent him over.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, his apologies beat within him; unable to actually speak the words.

An eternity passed in the space of a heartbeat as two Jedi stood frozen and silent.

"I have no intention of telling you," Obi-Wan said softly, shaking himself free of the memories. He swallowed, closed his eyes until he felt able to speak, then turned and looked at Anakin, the cloth forgotten in his hands. "Anakin, too much has happened for me to talk about it. I'm sorry. I'm not ready. I'm still trying to come to terms with it myself. I see myself and I don't know who that man is looking back at me."

Anakin clenched his fist and his jaw. There was nothing he could do: his master would not confide in him. Obi-Wan would hide his pain and his grief inside – he always did – held separate from his padawan. And he was in pain. The tenseness in his shoulders, the way he scrubbed harder as memories flooded him, even the admission that he was having trouble facing everything that had happened to him told Anakin that.

"Of course, Master," he replied stiffly. He wanted to fall to his knees, beg forgiveness for grabbing him to shake the truth from him, Force, he wanted Obi-Wan to assure him it was all a sleeping nightmare, not one of wide-open eyes and waking hours. He had asked for the truth, and he couldn't face the truth of what he already knew.

His master had been brutally treated, and Anakin had not been there for him, had not saved him, and had now all but broken the man apart in his own hands in his quest for – what? Knowledge? Assurance that it was not half as bad as he imagined, not half as bad as the wounds on his body proved, not nearly half as bad as his master's reaction indicated?

His rage was still there, but he had directed it at Obi-Wan when it should be directed at Ventress, the Sith, and at himself.

_Dear Force_! Realization spilled over him. The power had been there, within his hands, just a minute ago, one wish away from execution. One word, one pull on the Force, and Obi-Wan would have broken before him, spilling everything, justifying his padawan's rage and pain at: _oh, Force_!

Anakin's heart clenched within his chest: he had come close to destroying his master for no reason other than selfish purposes – he would have broken his own master in his rage at what Ventress had done to the man – but somehow the moment had passed without Anakin coming close to destroying his master, doing what Ventress had started and he so nearly finished.

_Dear Force, no_! Anakin wetted his lips.

"I'm sorry, Master." The words tore from his heart, this time, this need to comfort, no longer implore or beg for enlightenment.

"Anakin - I…," Obi-Wan's words trailed off, a hand half-extended to his padawan; a hand unseen by the one it reached to.

"Master," Anakin nodded and turned to leave. The memory of Obi-Wan twisting the cloth in his fingers, scrubbing harder, speaking with perfect calmness though his eyes had clouded with pain suddenly shattered him.

"When you're ready," he whispered, and pulled his master into what was meant to be a brief hug before leaving. For a moment, Obi-Wan stiffened, then suddenly his shoulders were shaking and tears squeezed from under closed eyelids.

Anakin held him as he would have held a sobbing child, but even in the midst of his pain, Obi-Wan had not fully let go. Obi-Wan would never let go, for what had him clutching Anakin was the overflow from emotion he was releasing into the Force, a Force that had suddenly swirled and enveloped the Jedi within its own warm embrace.

Anakin had never come to this kind of understanding with the Force. Deep emotion, especially such pain as his master seemed to be reliving, releasing, letting go, needed the warmth of understanding, the gentle hug of a concerned friend – it needed whispered words and soft touches – human contact.

Obi-Wan reached to the Force, when Anakin was right there…and Anakin didn't know whether he should feel awe or pity for the man who never sought the comfort of other living beings, and when it was offered, rarely accepted it.

"It's okay, Master," he soothed, not realizing tears were dripping from his own eyes.

"It's over…you'll forget…I'm here when – if - you're ready for a shoulder to cry on." But he knew Obi-Wan would not find release in tears; it was a Force-blessed miracle in itself that he allowed his Padawan to hold him close against the horrors of his experience.

"When you're ready…to – to talk about it – I'll be here," Anakin reiterated, before holding his master back at arm's length to study his face. Obi-Wan might never speak, but he would never speak unless and until he was ready. To be forced to speak, to remember, to relive such memories by a friend, a companion, a padawan so shortly after being forced to so much unbearable suffering at the hands of an enemy would be even crueler.

"I'll leave you in peace, for now," he said as gently as possibly, before leaving. Obi-Wan's eyes were fixed on his with a strange yearning in them, as if wanting comfort yet not knowing how to accept it.

_

* * *

Oh, my padawan_…. 

There was a strange ache in Obi-Wan's chest that not even the Force could assuage: an ache for causing his padawan's tears; an ache for his inability to wipe them away with words or gestures.

An ache for himself, for who he had been and who he was now – and who he was not. An ache that he could not give what Anakin needed him most to give; not now, perhaps later when it would be too late. Now was not the time, for either of them.

It would be a relief to get everything off his shoulders, to let the pain and memories wash from him, to accept comfort and sympathy, but Anakin wasn't ready to hear it, just as he was not ready to speak of it. It would only inflame Anakin's already weak control of his anger and desire for retribution. That had left, as always, the Force – non-judgmental, accepting, and non-reactive.

The same Force that had slipped from him minutes ago leaving him shaking; the same Force he so desperately needed and the same Force that had returned to wrap him in its embrace much as Anakin had within his arms.

He could not accept the offered comfort, nor offer any in return – and that knowledge hurt almost as much as the memories themselves. Anakin's pain from his master's silence was so much less than the pain should he find the words to speak, and that less than the pain should he let the bond itself speak what he could not yet put into words.

He dared not reach out, no matter how he wished to. He just knew his padawan could not handle what he would like to lay out in the light of day. He could not put that burden on Anakin, but he could give it to the Force.

He had already seen and felt Anakin's flash of rage as he understood some of what Asajj had done to his master, for the story was visibly scrawled and carved on his body. The emotion disturbed Obi-Wan, but it seemed under Anakin's control, though barely so. Were he to know the extent of his master's mistreatment – Obi-Wan shuddered at the possibilities.

Until he was in a condition to guide Anakin in channeling his feelings appropriately, he was not going to let Anakin know just what had been done to him. Facing and releasing his own emotions was difficult enough, and he was a Jedi master.

It was one reason when everything hit him and Anakin had all but cradled him as a baby in need of comfort – he flushed at the thought – he had sought release in the Force, not release by speaking. The Force accepted whatever he chose to gave it, it did not judge and it did not condemn. It did not get angry on his behalf or offer pity. It just took what he had no desire to retain, no need to hold onto.

What he had experienced would not change the Force, but it would change Anakin. His padawan would take it, react to it, fight against it, and it would seep into him little by little, until the pain of his master was the pain of the master and the padawan both. Obi-Wan would not lay that burden, that knowledge, that pain, on his padawan.

And yet, it was tempting, all too tempting. A temptation he had to resist, for Anakin's sake.

_I'm here…._

_Anakin_.

Obi-Wan steadied himself as memories flashed through him: nine-year-old Anakin, tearful and uncertain as they left Qui-Gon's funeral pyre, slipping a small hand into his and looking up at him with trustful eyes.

Arms tight around Obi-Wan's neck as he cried in the aftermath of a nightmare.

Preparing meals and making beds when Obi-Wan had broken a hand, happy to be doing something, anything, to help his master, so Obi-Wan had gone along with the illusion that he was incapable of handling things because it brought so much joy to his padawan to be needed.

His heart had broken with his master's death; it had been repaired with the love for and love of a small boy.

It had been so long since that compassionate, helpful, comforting boy had been the Anakin he knew. Now that side of him was too often buried, overlain by grim determination, driven by his power to be a knight before he knew himself and overcame his weaknesses – a staunch friend, a good companion, a worthy warrior.

He faced the man in the mirror and found the courage to ask his questions and voice his fear.

_Have I failed him?_ Where had that Anakin gone, and why? _What part did I play in changing him?_

But the man in the glass had no answers, either.


	35. One Small Step Towards Healing

Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed. The Force had chosen silence. He would have to find his own answers apparently.

"Even between the two of us, we have no answers it seems." The man in the mirror merely nodded his head in agreement, red-rimmed eyes meeting red-rimmed eyes. "Well then. So what do we do now?" _You stop staring into mirrors, is what you do. You take a deep breath and finish cleaning up, that's what you came in here to do after all._

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, recognizing finally that he was just expecting too much of himself, too soon. It was all too obvious that his exertions, physical and Force-related, as he tried to elude recapture after his escape had not done him any good; the physical toll had only added to the mental toll.

The fight with the bounty hunters had all but pushed him over the edge, for it had taken his all just to fight Ventress. He had needed to fight and fight he had, but fighting had drained what little strength he had and re-opened partially healed wounds as he could now see.

No doubt that was why he found the Force so elusive, sometimes within his grasp and other times absent entirely. _Face it, you're not a well man, Kenobi – but you can be. You will be. You shall be._

And Anakin…his inability to deal appropriately with his padawan's anger and confusion only pointed out his inadequacy at this time to be the master he needed to be for his padawan. After all these years he still had not been able to teach the young man to control and release his emotions on his own; perhaps, no Jedi could.

His padawan would someday be an exceptional Jedi – if the war didn't destroy the young man before he grew into the Jedi he would someday be. The Force alone could not protect his spirit, only his body. Anakin had to protect himself: he needed to feel less and think more, find a way to retain compassion while practicing a Jedi's detachment or his inner conflict would destroy his heart and soul.

"Detachment: it seems I must seek that myself," Obi-Wan murmured. The figure in the mirror again nodded in agreement. "Well, then, since we agree…."

_Focus on breathing: breathe out the pain, breathe in strength_. Qui-Gon's gentle instructions echoed through Obi-Wan's mind; he could almost imagine his master's callused, strong, and surprisingly gentle hand against his back, guiding him from horror to healing. Even in death, his master was with him, only a thought away – that thought alone gave him strength. This memory, at least, held no pain, only affection.

In the Force, a ghost smiled as an ethereal hand continued to rub taut muscles slowly relaxing.

_Focus._ _Focus on the moment_. _Breathe in, out. __Again._ With each slow breath, Obi-Wan breathed out painful memories and breathed in peace.

Finally he could return his attention to his physical self. The deep tear in his calf was again seeping blood; the fabric beginning to cling to his leg. He closed his eyes for a moment: blood – he just couldn't seem to get away from blood, no matter where he was.

_Stop! _he commanded his body and mind before he started to shake

Having successfully stifled the flash of emotion, he dropped his leggings and washed his lower body before he applied a bacta patch to the wound, doing his best to ignore all the visible and invisible signs of trauma that marked him on both lower and upper body. He knew all too well what had been done to him; he didn't need to see the marks.

Feeling at least partially scoured clean, he shook out the clothing Anakin had left: simple leggings, a loose tunic that was baggy over his chest, with too long sleeves that he rolled up. A last swish of the wet cloth through his matted hair and beard and he was relatively tidied up.

He straightened his shoulders and tried to slip into the mantle of Jedi serenity he was so used to wearing. If one ignored the eyes, he had succeeded.

Resolutely, he opened the door and found Alpha waiting. "You'll feel a new man," he murmured, patting him as he passed by. The ARC trooper nodded, a second bundle of clothing under his arm and disappeared into the small cabin as Obi-Wan sat down with the other two Jedi, taking the offered second cup of tea with a nod of thanks.

Tension was thick in the air; the two Jedi had apparently been interrupted in the midst of a somewhat heated conversation; both had immediately fallen silent upon his entrance. Anakin's look was a strange combination of relief, guilt and worry. Ki-Adi-Mundi's eyes mirrored the same minus the guilt.

"I'm quite all right now," Obi-Wan murmured, accepting another cup of tea as he sank into a seat. While it would not make up for his prior inability to reassure his padawan, he could at least make sure Anakin knew that the gesture had not gone unappreciated. "Thank you, Anakin; I do realize this has been just as hard on you as it on me – perhaps, even harder in some ways. We will talk, later. I promise."

His padawan nodded and offered a wan smile, clearly wary of speaking and upsetting his master once more. He appreciated Anakin's reticence, yet his retreat into silence was worrisome. The silence was awkward and uncomfortable.

No one said anything; it seemed none of them could think of a neutral subject at first. Anakin didn't want to talk of Jabiim, Ki-Adi-Mundi didn't think it was the time to speak of the war in general, and Obi-Wan certainly didn't want to speak of his captivity.

So the recently freed Jedi closed his eyes and leaned his head back; withdrawing into himself, trying to regain his equanimity and strength. He had thought he was in reasonably good physical health, considering his captivity, but it had proved an illusion.

He wanted nothing more than to collapse but he would not allow himself to frighten his padawan in such a manner.

He knew both Ki-Adi-Mundi and Anakin were studying him, worry well hidden by one and less so by the other.

As much as he craved rest, he wasn't sure he wanted to sleep. Exhaustion tugged at him, but awake he could look into Anakin's face, not that of Ventress. Awake, he could feel his head tucked against something yielding, not hung forward, too heavy for his neck to uphold. Awake, he could feel dry cloth against his skin, not the cold and damp air against his bare skin.

He was safe, he was free and he wanted nothing more than to forget, at least for a little while. Even a Jedi should be able to escape his memories, at least until he found the strength to confront and release them.

A moment later he was dashing for the refresher, the pain all turned to churning acid, his system purging itself of its long mistreatment.

Rid finally of the nausea, he returned to his seat, unaware of the worried eyes on him. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands, bracing his arms on his knees. He was free, so why did he still hear screams echoing in his mind? He was free, so why did he still see blood, sometimes dripping and sometimes almost gushing? He was free, so why did he still feel chained and helpless?

Why couldn't he let it go? It was over, behind him, in the past.

_Take a deep breath_, _Kenobi,_ but he could feel the sweat prickle on his face, the tears behind his eyes, and the swallowed moan in his throat. His hands dug into his scalp, pressed hard in an attempt to distract himself.

"Are you okay, Master?" Anakin had had to repeat himself several times until Obi-Wan looked up and slowly shook his head

"It seems not," he said, looking at how his hands trembled. He had fought free of the worst of the memories, but they refused to entirely let him go. "I'm having trouble putting it behind me – I thought I could put it behind me, but it's not so easy. Memories keep intruding on my thoughts; I don't want to face those memories – not yet." He looked up, grabbed onto Anakin's hands. "Help me, Padawan – talk to me of other things, will you?"

"Well, sure, Master," Anakin agreed, casting about desperately for something to talk about.

"You're actually asking me to help you – I guess I can count this as another rescue, then, right? Well, let's see – did you know that Siri agreed with me that you had to be alive. I think she was the only one who truly believed."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. Why Siri? Especially why Siri? She was the one who had had the bad feeling to start with. His surprise must have showed on his face, for Anakin merely shrugged.

"How would I know why? Maybe she's just smarter than everyone else."

"No doubt, but still – what made you believe so strongly?"

"The bond, Master, truly. I just knew I would know if something happened to you – just like I knew, well, when things went from bad to worse for you – they did, didn't they?" He nodded as Obi-Wan flinched and agreed, the Jedi noticing how Anakin's hands clenched and unclenched as he fought his own memories. "Siri said she had an old friendship bond with you that worked similarly – I guess you were pretty good friends once if you formed a friendship bond."

Obi-Wan almost smiled at that. Good friends, indeed, for he had wanted to marry her, had even considered leaving the Order to be with her if necessary, but becoming a Jedi knight had been of no less importance. It was what he was meant to be, but only at the cost of whom he wanted to be with – and the same was just as true for Siri.

He had loved Siri. Now, he knew he still did. He had never stopped loving her, had only buried it deep inside. He would have to do so again.

"Once, before life intruded," Obi-Wan said carefully. "We both grew up, I gained a padawan, missions and then the war intruded – we're still pretty good friends, but it's not quite the same."

In some ways, the friendship was stronger than ever. It had survived love, and the loss of love. It had survived heartbreak and separations, and proven that bonds of friendship were just as enduring as love, and just as much a source of strength. He had survived, in part, because of his friendships.

"That's too bad." Anakin was genuinely sympathetic. Obi-Wan shook his head, denying the need for sympathy. He had learned long ago to accept changes, for changes were part of life – one could accept changes, or fight against it – but one could no more stop it than to affect the orbits of planets.

"No, life merely moves forward. One can't fight it; one learns to accept the changes that come with living. As Qui-Gon was always telling me, 'live in the moment, Padawan.'" He smiled as Anakin chimed in at the last.

Qui-Gon's legacy to the galaxy; sometimes it was astonishing how much of his master Obi-Wan saw in his padawan. "As I am, and always will be, he would be proud of you, Anakin. You are much like he was – always questioning, following the Force where it led without regard to the dictates of the, er, Council – though I sometimes think you drag the Force along with you rather than following its lead."

The affection in his voice softened the words from a reproof to a good-natured dig; Anakin grinned and accepted it with good humor.

"Imagine: two rebels in the Order. At least Qui-Gon restrained his independent streak until he was knighted and his own man." Ki's comment was both amused and slightly scolding.

"Master Qui-Gon was a wise Jedi," Anakin said, as always quick to defend the man who had freed him to pursue his dreams. "He was never afraid to do what he thought he should, no matter what the Council thought, Master Mundi. To be considered a maverick like him is a compliment and he is my role model as to what a Jedi should be."

He glanced at Obi-Wan, flushing slightly as if suddenly remembering his presence. Obi-Wan could almost read his thoughts: My master has already been hurt so badly, why did I have to add to it by speaking without thought?

"I'm sorry, Master." Sincere sorrow infused his words, sorrow for speaking the words he had, regardless of the truth behind them.

"No, Anakin, never be afraid to speak the truth," Obi-Wan said quietly. The truth might sting, but lies did the real harm. He had done his best to emphasize that even if the truth sometimes hurt, the hurt was short term and in many cases ultimately enlightening, should one take the opportunity to learn from the hurt. Lies – lies hurt, and never illuminated.

His padawan had only finally voiced what Obi-Wan thought Anakin had long thought. The words hurt a little, but came as no surprise.

He had always known, for Anakin's protests against his master's actions or lack of had always pointed out in some way Obi-Wan's caution when Qui-Gon would have plunged ahead.

He made sure to catch Anakin's eyes, for the young man had looked away as if not wanting to see the hurt in his master's eyes, hurt that Obi-Wan had been careful not to show and quick to release. In some ways, he was filled with a quiet pride that exceeded that fleeting moment when he first understood Anakin's words, for Qui-Gon Jinn was a worthy role model for Anakin, just as he had been for his own padawan.

"He was mine, too. I was once almost as rebellious and reckless as he, and it caused me much grief – as well as others - so I learned to be cautious as a result. I'm sure Master Mundi here remembers how the Order and I nearly – parted ways permanently."

"Well, yes, the Council was initially quite disappointed in your choice to leave, even if it was for a good cause," Ki started slowly, not sure how much Obi-Wan wanted revealed, or if he had even spoken of those days to his padawan.

"To save others, to help bring peace to a troubled planet…," Obi-Wan murmured. "I thought I was following the Force, when it was my heart alone." The old ache awoke: Ceresi. Dead in the cause of peace; he had given a piece of his thirteen-year-old heart to her and left it behind with her body when he sought to return to the Jedi, humbled, wiser and sadder.

Bandomeer, Melida/Daan, Naboo – each place had shaped him, each had changed him. Jabiim, he supposed, would be another place, another planet, to join that list.

Yet out of such places of sorrow and grief had eventually come joy and satisfaction in equal measure – Qui-Gon Jinn had accepted him as his padawan; he had taken Anakin Skywalker as his padawan in turn. He had found self-knowledge on Melida/Daan. What, he wondered, would Jabiim gift him with to counter the pain that was all he had of it now?

"Your impulsiveness joined with your compassion tended to overrule your common sense." Ki's words were gentle now, in sharp contrast to the words spoken then. "We doubted your suitability to be a knight, a doubt that you put to rest quite soon. It became quite apparent that the very qualities that make you such a credit to the Order are what led to your decision to leave – and to return."

Obi-Wan nodded, grateful that Ki didn't elaborate. "You see, Anakin, life takes its own twists and turns and all we can do is to remain flexible and follow the Force's will. What made Qui-Gon a 'maverick' was his interpreting the Force's will differently than the rest of the Order combined and not hesitating on standing his ground. When you have achieved full control of yourself and proven yourself ready to be knighted - that is when you have my permission to indulge your maverick streak. Until then I shall continue my inadequate attempts to restrain you."

"Chosen One" or not, Anakin Skywalker would be a remarkable Jedi once he achieved his potential. Once mind and heart were in harmony, he would more than fulfill the potential Qui-Gon Jinn had seen in the boy so many years before.

"I do respect and honor you, Master," Anakin seemed to want that clearly understood; he was leaning forward to emphasize his words, his gaze firmly affixed on his mentor. His posture and body language allowed for no misunderstandings – it was clear that though his master's eyes might be twinkling with amusement at the moment, the young Jedi didn't expect it to last.

His padawan believed that relief was giving the master false energy and optimism; that it had to fail him soon and the horror of his experience again flood through him.

"I know you do." Obi-Wan nodded. _Listen to me, no, but respects me – usually_. He suddenly felt old and weary, almost inadequate to the task of completing Anakin's training. Rubbing his temple didn't seem to stimulate his muddled mind, and he sighed.

He was now he was paying the price for his heavy draw on the Force when he had been so weak.

He could not deny his imminent collapse any longer. It would be foolish to try.

"I need some bunk time," he said as he stood slowly, trying not to betray the dizziness he felt. He covered his unsteadiness with a hand on his padawan's shoulder, his, "no, no, stay put," the ostensible reason for the hand. Sheer fatigue was no reason to give his padawan cause to worry.

It was only ten feet or so to rest. Surely he could make it that far before his knees buckled under him, tumbling him unceremoniously to the deck. It was no wonder he was all but falling apart when something brought the memories back, no wonder his connection to the Force was wavering. It was what gave him much needed strength; without it, he faltered. All of his Jedi training was not sufficient to overcome this level of mental and physical fatigue. "If you two will excuse me."

Alpha was already asleep on one of the bunks. _Smart man_, Obi-Wan thought with an appreciative chuckle. _I hope I don't dream_; he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

The dreams came soon after; the nightmares not much later.

"_Beg, Obi-Wan – beg me to kill you," a long fingernail lifted his chin and slid over his lips and trailed down his neck, his chest, his stomach leaving an indented path speckled with red behind._

_He forced open an eye and tried to focus; shook his head weakly. "No."_

"_You are dying, you know. You're so close to it now, yet still so far – I can end your pain – why not beg me to end it? It's what you want, is it not? Why suffer like this?" The voice was seductively gentle, a coo, a promise of peace if he agreed, just gave in and gave up._

_It would be so easy. Doing the right thing was even more important, far more important than doing the easy thing. He had not yet kept his promise to Qui-Gon: Anakin was not yet a knight. Alpha was suffering and his life was all but forfeit should Obi-Wan die. _

_The right choice was to live; the easy choice was to let himself rejoin the Force. _

_It wasn't his choice; it could never be. His life was not his, not anymore; he had given it into the keeping of something far greater than himself. The Force told him to live._

"_Because it's not my time," he said simply. "The Force does not accept my life yet."_

"_But it'll take you," Ventress hissed; her hand flashed. Obi-Wan looked down at the handle of the blade, all that was visible – and that barely, in the wash of red now covering his bruised chest._

"_No," he whispered, his words almost inaudible as his eyes lifted to meet hers. "Not yet – not even your hands can send me there until it is willing to take me."_

_And then his head had slowly sunk to his chest and he knew only that his heart still beat…_

* * *

Anakin waited until Obi-Wan was out of sight, then looked at Ki-Adi-Mundi. The older Jedi was staring after the man, frowning. Clearly, both had caught the Jedi's slight waver as he stood and the way he almost shuffled off.

The padawan had seen that same mix of bewilderment and satisfaction when he had cut his mother loose from her bindings. His mother had been confused, uncertain that she was free from further pain, yet she had known she was free and that it was Anakin who was there releasing her. His mother had died; his master might well have.

All his pain and grief flooded him at that moment and he turned a firm gaze on the Council member.

"Ventress can not ever be allowed to treat anyone like this again. You didn't see the marks on him – Master – my master was brutalized. It's inhuman what was done to him. You saw him there, and now – he's not himself, and nothing ever touches him like that. Ventress took my master away from me and left – him."

Ki-Adi-Mundi turned a chiding look on the young Jedi, pausing a moment before replying. Sapphire eyes that could be so warm were now chips of ice above a thin-lipped mouth that demanded acquiescence. He could be a chip off the Mace Windu block.

The voice was icily calm, betraying emotions that had gone far beyond heated anger and cooled into the absolute chill of deadly purpose.

"That man is still the man you call Master, Anakin. Of course he's not himself at the moment, perhaps for a while, and while this experience will change him, he will always be Obi-Wan Kenobi. Don't give up on him."

"Give up?" Anakin could only stare, stunned at the mere thought, stunned that a Council member would question his devotion to his master and stunned that his words would be so misunderstood. His eyes softened. "I'm not giving up – I want the Master Obi-Wan I know back, sure, but I know it'll be awhile before he's himself again. I want – I want permission to go after Ventress. She has to be stopped."

"Why?"

"Why? Why! You should see what she did to -."

"Padawan. It sounds like you are seeking revenge. A Jedi never seeks revenge. The Council will discuss what to do about her, but you are to remain silent on the subject for now. Focus your attention where it belongs, on your master."

How Anakin would have responded to that firm request would never be known. Anakin's head shot up and his eyes swiveled beyond the cabin walls as if trying to see something.

"Master!" Anakin threw a worried look at Ki-Adi-Mundi and slipped into the small cabin. "Master? Obi-Wan?"

What he saw almost broke his heart; it broke the ice that had threatened to enshroud it.

He had never seen Obi-Wan curled up in a tight ball, huddling against something only he could see, one hand clutching at his heart. Other than the posture itself, nothing seemed out of order and Alpha continued to sleep peacefully in the other bunk

The padawan carefully sat on the edge of the bunk and touched his master's shoulder, smiling in relief as Obi-Wan uncoiled a little, quaking a little at the sight of the drained and damp face, the barely perceptible tremors and the almost unbearable sense of silent suffering.

The Jedi never suffered from nightmares; never second-guessed himself. He was a rock, steady, dependable, and unimaginative – immune to vulnerability or weakness. Life flowed around him, parting as a river around a rock, the rock unyielding in the current. Now that rock had caught a sudden and brutal wave and now it tumbled unanchored.

Instinctively, Anakin knew he needed now to be the anchor; the one to stabilize the rock and allow it once again to be the anchor that protected the padawan; for it was that rock's ability to part the waves that allowed the younger rock to merrily tumble in the soft eddies with little danger of being swept away.

He swept damp locks out of the worn face, his thoughts now solely focused on the man before him, the one who had raised him, comforted him, and guided him.

"Hey, Master, wake up. It's just a nightmare, but I'm here – just like you were always at my side when I had them. Remember – you would fix me coca and rub my back, telling me that I could go back to sleep, that you would protect me? Wake up so I can make that same promise to you, okay?"

Anakin dampened a cloth and carefully patted Obi-Wan's face as he spoke soothingly, feeling that the familiar voice was somehow reaching his master, despite the shields the Jedi had unwittingly raised. Rather than protecting him from his memories, they were trapping him with them, and Anakin was loath to break through the shields, hoping his words or voice would provide comfort.

'C'mon, Master – you always say the past is behind us, that we have to move on. It's over, behind you now – so – please – put it behind you and be – be yourself, again. Please? I need you to be strong, okay? I need you to be my master," he gulped, feeling young and vulnerable as he had not in years.

Sitting beside this man who looked only something like the man who had raised him for years, sounded something like that man as well, and yet was now lying there the weaker of the two, he who had always been the strongest, showed just how twisted Anakin Skywalker's world had become.

"I need to know that I can always count on you to be your usual infuriating serene self – that you just _are_ while so many other things never seem the same. I need you to be _you_, someone I don't have to worry about anymore – it was hard, Master, so hard, to do nothing when I knew you needed me."

He dampened the cloth again, carefully working around the bruised cheekbone, wincing in sympathy as a soft whimper protested the rub of cloth against a previously unseen burn. When Anakin finished wiping the sweat away he propped his face in his hands, elbows on the bunk, letting his eyes reinforce what he already knew – Obi-Wan was now free, master and padawan reunited.

Yet the ache inside hadn't lessened: the guilt and pain were still there. Anakin was no more free of those long weeks than Obi-Wan. How could one just live in the moment when the scars of the past were still so fresh?

The padawan refused to leave his master's side, sending waves of Force to strengthen and help heal him, holding or patting his hand when nightmares intruded on his rest so that the creases of pain smoothed out in his face and his hands relaxed from the tight clench – he massaged limbs that flailed and shuddered under phantom touches and soon calmed them under his gentle hands.

Gradually, the terrors and pain subsided, soothed by both the Force and his padawan's efforts. As his master quieted and slide into normal sleep, Anakin began to simply talk, recalling happy times his master had told him about, happy times they had shared, hoping that if the words did not reach Obi-Wan, the peace in those memories did.

It seemed to work. Obi-Wan's lips occasionally curved into a soft smile, a gentle hint of a laugh stirred the Force.

* * *

Obi-Wan drifted…awash in the soothing waves of the Force, awash in pleasant memories…

… "I would be honored if you would become my padawan"…

_and I was_…

… "You have done well…I am proud of you, padawan mine"…

_and always have been and always will be…_

… "It shall not be long before I shall be honored to hold this braid in my hand"…

_I wish I had been there to sever it for you…to speak of the pride that I kept concealed…_

… "I miss you, Master."

_I've always been with you, in a manner of speaking my padawan…_

And the gentle rumble of a deep voice became his own lilting and clipped voice…

…"_Obi-Wan? I'm glad – since Qui-Gon couldn't be – you're my master_"…

"I'm glad you're my padawan, Anakin"… the realization that this time his tongue had not tripped on the title; that he had meant every word he had said. Anakin Skywalker had become more than a promise to his master, more than his master's bequest. Anakin Skywalker was his padawan.

… "_Must you tug my braid, Master?"…._

"Of course, when it results in that face – a frown and a giggle at the same time is a rare delight to see."

… "_Master –you're back. I missed you! You were gone so long"…_

"I missed you two, imp, even if I was only gone for a fortnight."

… "_Master – I want to be just like you when I'm old like you"…_

"Ah, are you so sure of that? Neither of us yet know what I'll be like when I'm old, do we - but, thank you, my young padawan, I'll take that as it was intended – as a compliment."

… "- _we would be_ _honored if you would accept a seat on the Council_"…

"I – would be honored…"

… "_- be careful, Obi-Wan," and Siri's request to Anakin to protect his master…_

His response, this time, not in words, but a kiss that had surprised even him – for Siri's fears, spoken aloud, had proven to be the key that had unlocked old feelings he had thought long dormant; feelings that had surfaced and sustained him during his fight to live and in his fight for sanity.

He drifted towards awareness; dreams, memories and thoughts intertwining in a mosaic of remembrance and hopes, of dreams and fears.

Qui-Gon Jinn, reluctant to risk his heart a second time, but finally daring to risk it for Obi-Wan Kenobi. There had been times of heartache and sorrow in those early years but they had struggled through those days, bolstered by the memories of happier times and with faith in the future and in each other that the struggle was worth it.

It _had _been worth it. The day had come when both realized the struggle was behind them and their bond would never be severed. That belief had wavered, for a moment standing before the Council with Anakin's future being decided, but the strength of the bond had reasserted itself even if his knowledge of his master's commitment to him had been shaken by doubt and hurt.

Anakin Skywalker, a likeable boy with a penchant for trouble, a boy orphaned by distance from his mother and by death from his would-be mentor. Qui-Gon Jinn's legacy to the galaxy, his gift to his own padawan, a boy Obi-Wan had come to love. Vexatious, sometimes defiant, but always lovable.

His life would not be complete without his padawan. He was who he was, the Jedi he had become, in part because of Anakin.

Siri Tachi. Even when they were young rivals, greatly irritated by the other, he had admired her focus and commitment. Irritation had transmuted into grudging admiration, into tentative friendship and in time into love. Only their shared near-death experience had made them realize the truth and realization had also distanced them.

Time had healed the wound of separation and allowed their friendship to flourish. Obi-Wan just hoped that one parting kiss had not irreparably shattered that bond of friendship.

Constant warfare and now captivity had taught him just how valuable bonds were: between friends, between master and padawan, between a Jedi and the Force.

Bonds within the Code, bonds without attachment, centered him, allowed him to release his hate of Ventress as he recognized how her bond with her master had allowed her to be molded by circumstance, how Anakin, his own padawan might be had he fallen into the hands of the Sith, not the Jedi.

It was such a simple truth, but one that had eluded him until now.

_Yes, my Obi-Wan_, a soft whisper brushed against his mind. _That truth you found to defeat the mask, though retain that knowledge you could not. When the time comes, remember… remember _love_ is the key. _

_Bonds_… he needed bonds as much as he needed the Force; bonds were the Living Force that his master taught him to always seek yet the lesson had taken years to learn.

"Bonds," the whisper escaped barely parted lips.

"No, Master – no more. You're not bound…you escaped your bonds." Anakin wrapped his master with gentle reassurance as the words were murmured. Obi-Wan seemed to be stirring awake, but he soon slipped back into sleep, lulled by his padawan's soft words.

* * *

"…so there I was, covered in grease and Artoo frantically – oh."

During this monologue, Anakin looked down to see Obi-Wan peering up at him, sleepy-eyed and confused before his eyes blinked and cleared a bit.

"Hey, welcome back to the living," Anakin teased. "Feel better?"

"Much. But I think my ears are awfully sore." Obi-Wan's eyes drifted to Anakin's, slowly drifted back shut. "You're hoarse – have you been here talking all this time?

"Mostly," Anakin admitted.

"Give my ears a rest, will you? Take a break."

A small hand, thin and the bones far too prominent, gently patted the padawan's larger hand. Tears blurred Anakin's eyes as he looked at the misshapen fingers - and his fingers wrapped themselves around that twisted hand, his thumb rubbed against the rough skin and felt the poorly knitted fractures. Entwined hands - two hands, one hand smaller and scarred, one hand, larger and callused - stronger united than apart, for together, it wasn't clear which hand gave strength and which hand took it.

"I - ," for a moment he couldn't speak, not from that constricted throat, his voice harsh with emotion. He swallowed hard, tried again, forced a lightness into his tone that he didn't feel.

"I don't want to – oh, that will be an order, won't it if I don't obey? Fine, you must be all recovered if you're willing to order me around. Force knows who you'll be ordering around if the Council ever decides to let me take the trials."

For the first time in a while, Anakin reflected, he actually didn't care if, or even how, that question might be answered. This was not about his trials; this was about teasing a man in dire need of normalcy.

When Obi-Wan nodded in response to his offer of a sip of water, he put a hand behind Obi-Wan's back and helped him into a half-upright position, semi-surprised at his master's easy acceptance of the assistance. There was no pretense of self-sufficiency cloaking the man who had mastered the art of appearing strong in all circumstances.

Once the water had moistened his throat, Obi-Wan smiled wryly in response to his padawan's earlier jibe. "You don't have to agree, Anakin, but the Council always has its reasons. Your actions on Jabiim certainly help advance your case, from what I hear. I hope you'll share your experiences with me when I feel better, perhaps I can help you through them."

_As you share your experiences with me_? Anakin thought. _No, thanks, Master, I have no wish to share them with anyone – they are best forgotten._

Obi-Wan would learn to face, accept and release his ordeal into the Force. Anakin Skywalker's ordeal would only be buried inside where it would fester and rot.

Ignoring his master's response, Anakin merely shrugged and changed the subject. "How are you feeling? We'll be at the Temple in a little while."

"Weak, and utterly exhausted, but better, much better," Obi-Wan admitted. His eyes traveled over to the other bunk where Alpha laid, arms crossed on his chest. "How are you feeling, Alpha?"

"Not bad, other than my ears," Alpha grumbled and shot a pointed look at the hoarse padawan. Startled, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin to see him returning the ARC trooper's grin and he relaxed into the moment of easy camaraderie with a soft chuckle.

"We should revert out of hyperspace shortly," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, appearing in the doorway. "Back to the controls, Padawan. You're going to have a lot of time to catch up with your master later, I assure you." He studied Obi-Wan, his face expressionless, as Anakin nodded and left. "That sleep did you some good, but you still look terrible."

"As Master Yoda reminds us, 'luminous beings' we are. Thus how I look matters not, only how I feel, and I feel much better, thank you." He could see his fellow Jedi study him dubiously, well aware that "much better" did not necessarily translate into "well."

"We'll inform the Temple we need to have healers standing by, as soon as we break out of hyperspace."

Any protest he thought of making fled at the look at his colleague's face. It wasn't worth the effort it would take.

"I'm sure I can't avoid them," Obi-Wan sighed. All he really wanted to do was sleep for a week and meditate for another week after that. He wanted to catch up with his friends, assure them he was well. "I prefer to walk into the Temple on my own two feet, though. I'm not an invalid."

"No, you're not, but you are a badly mistreated man who's been though a horrific experience. I can barely sense you through the Force – you, my friend, I believe have the dubious honor of being one of the few Jedi who have reached a state known as Force exhaustion. Even if you were otherwise healthy, you should be sleeping nearly nonstop for the next few days."

"Fine by me, as long as I don't dream," Obi-Wan said, stretching and swinging his legs over the bunk and resting before getting awkwardly to his feet. "I still intend to walk out of this ship on my own two feet, though, if just to prove something."

"What?"

"You can't keep a Jedi down for long. That no matter what happened to me –I got back up on my own two feet."

"And are about to collapse right back off of them," Ki chided, steadying the man and his eyes showing his worry. "Really, Obi-Wan, sometimes I think you're too stubborn for your own good."

Obi-Wan sent a piercing gaze at his fellow Council member, any pretense at joking set aside. "Just what do you think allowed me to survive…everything – everything she did to me?" He swallowed hard and stared at his hands, suddenly at a loss for words; he finally whispered in a hoarse whisper that horrified Ki-Adi-Mundi, "I came close…so close…to embracing the Darkness in a futile attempt to escape the pain I was in. I still don't understand … how…I broke free – or if I entirely did. Can you tell me – do you sense – any darkness lingering within me?"

He raised suddenly haunted eyes to meet the concerned eyes gazing back at him, eyes that he knew the Council member had never before seen in his colleague.

Ki-Adi-Mundi could sense very little of his fellow Jedi's Force presence, so muted it was, yet the Force itself was as bright as ever around the man. It was the man who failed to shine as usual within it. Finally, he murmured, "I sense exhaustion and much confusion within you Obi-Wan – and far too much pain. Little else, my friend, but the Force still wraps around you and does not shy away. You need to heal now, not worry."

Fingers tightened as Obi-Wan made a fist on his knees, releasing a breath into the air as he could not into the Force, which was once again out of reach. "The Force was all but absent for so long – so long, Ki. What little I could access was a stranger to me, tainted with evil under a guise of strength. It was like I could breathe again when I was again able to touch the Force I know – and now, once again, it's hard, sometimes here and sometimes not. Grains of sand in my fingers…when I seem to need it most."

_I'll be there for you_, _Master_ a reassuring sentence wrapped in warmth floated through the bond, brushing his master's presence, brightening as it felt Obi-Wan's gratitude touch it with the gentlest of touches as if that was almost too much effort for him.

"You needed it most when you were being tortured, general," Alpha spoke up. "When you watched me being tortured. I saw you fight and I saw you suffer. I saw your tears and heard your screams – yet you persevered even without the Force. If you could handle all that on your own; well, you can heal without it, too, if necessary. It's your own inner strength that allowed you to survive."

A small smile met his words. They had such faith in him; if they only knew. It was they who lent him strength when the Force could not do so. It was what he needed: not their pity, not their anger on his behalf, no, only their support and strength.

"Your friends and colleagues will help when the Force isn't enough," Ki reassured Obi-Wan. "You won't have to deal with any of this on your own, you know. The whole Order will back you – not to mention your stubborn padawan. He fought the hardest for you – he never lost faith in you."

_And never will, Master; that day will be the day that Anakin Skywalker ceases to exist._

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't even try to hide the tear sliding down a cheek. This tear was not his, only from him. This tear was theirs; born of gratitude for their support and understanding.

This tear, this was the tear of a Jedi starting on the path to healing.

* * *

Okay folks, next chapter is Obi-Wan returning home to the Temple. This is the bow-out point for those of you not interested in the AU Siriwan twist. 


	36. Home is Where the Heart Is

**For Valentine's Day, a happy reunion. The timing just worked out. **

* * *

_Alive!_

In the midst of war word spread of one tiny miracle, of life where before there had only been death. Amidst all the losses, amidst all the sorrow, there was now relief and quiet gratitude amongst the Jedi, for one of theirs, mourned and pronounced dead, was alive after all.

"Master Kenobi is alive…Master Kenobi is coming home…Master Kenobi – have you heard? Kenobi – his clone companion – both alive – still alive after all this time."

If the news of Obi-Wan Kenobi's death had spread rapidly, the news of his miraculous escape and resurrection had spread even quicker. He and a clone trooper had managed to escape after several months of capture and torture. They had been ultimately rescued by Padawan Skywalker and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, and the ship bringing them would be at the Temple hangar in the morning.

Little was known about the two men's condition. Alive, certainly. Whether they were able to walk on their own or required assistance was not known. Torture had been confirmed; details had not and probably would never be.

No Jedi would give in to curiosity and be at the Temple hangar to greet the returning men unless they had reason to be by position or friendship. The members of the Council at the Temple would certainly be there. Garen and Reeft, long time friends of Obi-Wan were off-planet, or they would be there. Bant Eerin would be there with another healer.

Other than a few mechanics off in the distance busy at work, there were few Jedi other than the welcoming party in the hangar. The six members of the Council present had drifted in, including the just recently returned Adi Gallia and Plo Koon – so recently returned that Adi had not even had a chance to greet her former padawan.

Beyond the Council members stood the two healers, Bant and Healer Neille. Siri caught her breath at the sight of the two repulsor-stretchers behind them, until reality caught up to her. Standard procedure dictated them; neither man would be allowed to walk to the healers ward. No trauma team stood by, either, a clear indication that neither man was in dire need of medical aid.

Siri stood apart from the Council members. Her right to be there was not questioned, but she preferred to stand a distance away, separate from the formal greeting.

Nothing outwardly betrayed her apprehension and delight, or worry. Obi-Wan was alive and almost home, but what shape was he in?

What if – oh, Force – what if Obi-Wan was _mentally_ damaged? Unresponsive, inwardly wandering in a mind that had lost itself?

_Oh, Force, let him be okay_ she breathed.

There were Jedi that survived physically, but were never the same again. At least two Jedi were permanent residents for the rest of their days in the healers' ward, minds too damaged by horrific wounds and experiences to ever lead independent lives again, and the worst part of it was that both of them seemed to realize it in some half-aware part of themselves.

Siri would never forget the whispered words spoken to her as she had visited one of them – an age mate she remembered with a ready smile and a carefree attitude.

"I wish I remembered how to laugh…. " Not just the words, but the look of puzzlement in his eyes had nearly brought tears to Siri's eyes.

Would Obi-Wan remember how to laugh? To smile? Would those expressive eyes so full of life and mirth be dull and lifeless, haunted by memories he couldn't release? Would his sleep be nothing but nightmares, his days little better?

Yoda, Bant – even Anakin – might assure her he wasn't in that bad of shape, all things considered; that he had managed to survive relatively unscathed in mind even if not in body, but she had to see for herself.

She had been on her way back to her quarters just the day past when Yoda had asked her to meet him on his way down from Council. "Talked to Obi-Wan I have," he said, and she had hurried her pace to meet the little master in an alcove in the Grand Hall.

"Not well he is, as to be expected, but in far better shape than one would dare to hope," Yoda offered earnestly as Siri joined him. "Spoke to him the Council did and in good spirits he was if a bit overwhelmed. See him soon we all shall and then answers to our questions we will have, but know this – Obi-Wan is soon home and himself he shall be again with time and care. Pass this on to his friends as well – time I have not myself, though to Healer Bant I have just spoken as well."

All she could do was nod and try to master that which had just fled her – patience.

Now patience was about to be rewarded. The ship had entered orbit and was even now only moments away.

She was determined to be restrained and proper in her greeting, but wasn't sure she could pull it off; one reason she stood to the side. No Jedi before her had waited to greet one she loved, now freed from a long and no-doubt traumatic captivity.

During Obi-Wan's long absence, Siri had come to not just realize, but accept the true depth of her feelings for him, but just because she had been startled into that realization by his apparent death did not mean he had thought of her at all. Not that way.

Not even when startled out of her meditation by the sound of Obi-Wan's voice, by the brush of his hand across her face and the feel of his lips against hers, dared she hope his feelings were the same as her own. Logic told her it could not have been real, that moment that lingered in memory, of love transcending space and time to unite them, even if the Force whispered differently.

Her greeting would be appropriate, that of one good friend to another. It would not be unseemly for two friends, even two Jedi, to briefly hug – just not too close an embrace – perhaps a gentle kiss brushed against his cheek – not lingering, avoiding the lips – no, such should convey sufficient happiness at a dear friend's safe return without impropriety.

The ship settled slowly onto the landing pad and shut down its engines as the pad retracted within the hangar and the ship's ramp lowered. Siri's eyes flickered to the healers – were they snapping to attention, ready to board as soon as possible? Every Jedi's attention was focused on the opening, but the two healers stood just as still as the Council members: all patiently waiting. Apparently both men were deemed capable of moving on their own power from the ship to the waiting audience.

No sigh of relief escaped Siri's lips, but her heart unclenched just a bit, even as her fingernails pressed deep into the palms of her hand. Oh Force, now was the moment she feared and anticipated. Obi-Wan was back, but was it her Obi-Wan or one who was a stranger to her?

The Force surged as two figures appeared in the open hatchway, mere silhouettes for the moment before they moved forward into the subdued hangar lighting. Siri only had eyes for one.

Two men exited the ship side by side, one cloaked and half-hidden within his cowl and moving without his trademark grace, moving slowly, like a man half-broken yet moving without assistance. Something about his posture bespoke utter weariness; perhaps it was the slight stiffness of his gait. The other man walked beside the Jedi, visibly marked by cruel treatment, yet sturdier in his movements, not appearing as if he was about to break at any moment under the weight of his own bones.

Siri tore her eyes away long enough to glance back at the top of the ramp, to see Master Mundi and Anakin standing at the top of the ramp watching, and it seemed as if Anakin itched to be at his master's side, holding onto one arm. He saw Siri and smiled at her, wider as he caught her whispered, "thank you."

Obi-Wan put a hand on Alpha's shoulder as they approached the waiting Council members, clearly introducing him, and then inclined his head as he exchanged his own words of greetings. Siri's former master, Adi Gallia, smiled and her fingers touched Obi-Wan's face gently as she spoke, and he seemed to lean gratefully into them for a brief moment. Mace Windu smiled one of his rare smiles and clasped the younger man's shoulders before stepping back and assuming his usual stern expression.

Yoda hobbled forward a few steps and Obi-Wan dropped awkwardly to one knee and bowed his head. Yoda braced the man as he wobbled and said something that brought a smile to Obi-Wan's face. Siri couldn't quite see it, but she knew it – the Force sang its approval and welcome.

Mace extended a hand and helped Obi-Wan rise to his feet, steadied him as he turned to Alpha and the two men clasped hands. The Council members each took a moment to speak to the Clonetrooper, before he moved over to join the healers and Anakin. Adi glanced at Siri and smiled, as if to say, "He's yours now."

With a friendly clap on the back as he passed by Obi-Wan, Ki-Adi-Mundi joined the Council members as they filed slowly away. Anakin stood talking to the healers, his attention for the moment diverted from Obi-Wan. Siri stirred, and at the movement, Obi-Wan looked towards her.

She thought she had been prepared; she had not been. Her imagination had been vivid, but the reality was worse. This was not the man she had said good-bye to.

_Not well he is_. Yoda's words were a masterpiece of understatement.

Blue-gray eyes burned from within deep shadows carved by captivity, brightening as his eyes caught hers. A weak and pale man, bearded visage half-smiling through pain and weariness, he reached out a hand as he slowly moved forward to meet her. Healed and half-healed scars marked his hands and face even as they must have marked his psyche, but Siri saw none of that at that minute, had not since their eyes had met.

She only saw Obi-Wan, alive and moving on his own power and for the moment no one else existed but the two of them.

"Hello, there." The grin was pure Obi-Wan, so was the lilt of his voice. "I'm back."

The memory of the man consigned to her heart suddenly was the reality of the man almost within her touch. Siri Tachi paled and only immense will power schooled her features.

"Obi-Wan?" Shock made her waver on her feet; despite his own weakness Obi-Wan caught her arms and steadied her. "You _are_ alive."

"So they say. I'm not so certain, myself." He shifted his grip on her and suddenly he was hanging onto her, face white and drained. She braced him, put her hands on his face and stared into his eyes. Underneath the lingering dregs of pain and suffering, she could see a spark of his usual humor. This hurt man wasn't the Obi-Wan she knew, but he was still there, within.

Her Obi-Wan was home.

"How? Why?" She felt the tears build behind her eyes and tried to blink them away. All they did was blur the features of the man she had once thought dead. Was half-dead from the sight she had of him. Held captive, _tortured_, yet alive - and trying to smile at her.

He was concerned for her! Those blue-gray eyes held both amusement and uncertainty as he searched her eyes, clearly wondering what was wrong.

Shaking hands whispered over his temple, over his lips and down his chin. His beard, so untidy now, was soft under her hands while his lips were dry and cracked, trying to smile under her fingers; then he was gently kissing her fingers as his sore hands gently cradled her face, stroked through her hair.

He smiled at her as he said softly, "You didn't let me go."

"You wouldn't go."

They smiled, his eyes again crinkling at her as they separated; only their hands remaining clasped. "Anakin didn't let me go, either. As Jedi you both should have released me a long time ago."

"Ah, but if you were not one with the Force, how could I release you into it, Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You didn't know otherwise."

"I felt otherwise."

"Ah. Anakin had the bond and so felt that I had not died to sustain him."

"And I had not one, too?" Obi-Wan merely looked at her, and she smiled back with a little half-smile.

"It was a long time ago and I thought behind us. Behind you." He spoke carefully as if one misspoken word would shatter a friendship carefully balanced on the fulcrum of duty and choice. They had never spoken of their past; it had been locked in silence for their entire adult lives, for Siri had forbidden Obi-Wan to ever mention or even think of it.

_Be gentle with him_.

"I thought it best to keep it hidden," she replied, but unable to deny her heart she added softly, "Where it must stay, but know it is still there, Obi-Wan. Keep that in your heart should you ever leave me again, or I, you."

"You will always reside there, Siri," he said, leaning forward as a weary smile played over his face. He took her face within still pain-gnarled hands and gently kissed her, this time on the lips, chaste and tender both.

His lips were bruised and cracked, the skin of his hands rough and scabbed, and Siri thought the touch of each was pure bliss. It made her giddy and reckless. It made her no better than an adolescent girl determined to bedevil an adolescent boy, speaking words that would never have been spoken by Jedi adolescents then or ever, words she had never even thought to speak, and words that surprised her as much as it did Obi-Wan.

"Kiss me again and I'll take you right here, Kenobi," she hissed.

"Would you now?" His voice held the lilt that Siri loved and a hint of a gentle laugh; though a soft flush infused the pale skin and his eyes were wide with surprise.

"I just might," Siri was a bit amazed at her own words; she clapped a hand over her mouth in mortification as her eyes begged Obi-Wan to pretend this conversation wasn't happening. What had gotten into her?

Instead, Obi-Wan looked around at the departing Jedi and the waiting healers; he managed a crooked grin. "That I'd like to see," he whispered and leaned in again, his words in contrast to the deepening blush on his face. Siri poked him in the stomach and stepped back. He groaned. "Promises, promises."

"I keep my promises, but I couldn't keep that one," Siri exclaimed, trying hard not to blush in return. She hadn't expected Obi-Wan to react to her teasing like this, and she hadn't expected to be teasing him like this, either. Losing him, only to regain him, had loosened something within her, made her reckless.

Adi and Yoda may have encouraged, or at least removed any objection to their relationship, but she truly never expected Obi-Wan to react in such a manner, not after years of denial and strict obedience to the Code. Had she not, even, spoken of keeping their emotions buried inside where they had lain for so long? _Back off, Siri_.

"And you – you're a member of the esteemed Council." Catching sight of Bant and Neille coming their way, she couldn't help whispering, "Try it later, you gundark, and you might just get lucky – but I make no promises."

"Like you'd ever give me a chance," he mocked her, once again the unruffled Jedi he had grown into. "If I know the Temple healers, I'm going to be stuck in a bed for a while." He grimaced and frowned as the healers approached him, before turning to greet them.

"That sounds cozy," Siri murmured.

Obi-Wan sighed and returned over his shoulder, "If you're trying to inspire me to get well quickly, well, it's definitely enticing, but I'm sure the healers would frown on that."

'Is it working?" Inside Siri almost died; she was blushing, she knew. She hadn't thought he had heard. "Obi-Wan – I'm so sorry – I don't know what's come over me – sorry."

"I never knew you to be such a tease, before." His face was creased in the frown that meant he was puzzled, and what he was attempting to decipher was Siri or her words to him. His bewilderment was endearing as well as understandable.

Maybe he really had put their past behind him and moved on. He probably hadn't even thought of her more than in passing during his captivity. Poor man: here she was, confusing and bedeviling an obviously weary and unwell friend, who wasn't expecting any of his friends to all but throw herself into his arms like a long separated lover.

"So, who's teasing back?" Keep it light, a joke, teasing, she told herself.

"Someone in dire need of a friendly touch," and for a moment he seemed to stare into a memory, but he blinked and the look vanished, "– but not ready for that friendly," and he shocked Siri with a wink. For the moment, he looked to be free of his memories, but only for a minute as his eyes clouded over and grew a bit unfocused.

Obi-Wan with haunted eyes – it brought back memories of Obi-Wan returning from Naboo years ago. That wound had gone straight into his heart, but these wounds were worse, far worse.

Obi-Wan was older now, more experienced in shedding emotions into the Force, yet he had been unable to shed them all. He must have gone through hell, to have his mind, body and soul so scarred. That he could joke and tease with her told her he was well along on his healing; it gave her hope he would soon be totally recovered.

Siri touched his hand and was pleased when Obi-Wan pressed his fingers briefly around hers. It was okay; they were okay.

"Thank you for being here," he said simply.

"Thank you for coming back," she returned, equally simply.

It was time to move back and let the healers do what they could to help him. It was time to let Obi-Wan and his best friend be reunited. "I'll see you later, okay? Bant's waiting to greet you, too, you know."

"Bant, you're a sight for sore eyes," Obi-Wan murmured as he turned around and smiled.

"Obi, you've got to stop giving us heart attacks," Bant scolded as Obi-Wan caught her in a hug. She was blinking back tears. "What would I do without my best friend?"

"Find a new line of work, I'd say." He chuckled at Bant's huff of exasperation and half-hearted smack on his arm.

"I just can't stay away from you healers, can I?" he shook his head, grinning. "I can walk there on my own power," he protested, though resigned to the fact protocol alone meant he had no choice.

"You have an appointment with a bed, my friend," Bant said firmly, wrapping a hand around his arm and guiding him towards the waiting repulsor-stretcher. As she helped him onto it, Obi-Wan swiveled his head and winked at Siri, mouthing "alone."

Siri stood there, shaking her head and smiling. Once more, Obi-Wan had managed to get the last word in. Some things just never changed – and that was comforting.


	37. Strength Proves Elusive

Despair did not walk with Anakin Skywalker this return to the Temple. Though his heart was still heavy with sorrow for those dead on Jabiim, that ache was distant and overlain by joy and satisfaction, for this time he had not returned alone. Last time, Anakin Skywalker had returned without his master; this time, Anakin Skywalker had returned with him.

Anakin Skywalker was vindicated, even if the Council had chosen not to acknowledge it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, even if the Council had chosen not to try and save him.

Master and Padawan were together once more and the sorrows of the past were slowly receding under the joy of the present. Obi-Wan Kenobi was home, alive and safe. Safe, and soon to be whole. Anakin turned to smile down at his master and caught his breath. A pang of worry stabbed through him.

"Master?"

He just now noticed the suddenly pale and drawn face on the repulsor-stretcher, the closed eyes and utter weariness in the lines of the worn face. It was as if the man had put all his energy into appearing healthy and well as he was welcomed home by his friends and colleagues, only now releasing his grip on the mask he wished to maintain.

"Master?" He reached out and touched Obi-Wan's hand, pale and nearly translucent.

"I'm fine, Anakin, just - very tired." Despite the words, his master didn't open his eyes, but he curled his fingers around the padawan's hand and lightly squeezed in reassurance.

"You slept all the way here." He hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but Anakin was afraid it had.

"And I barely slept at all the whole time there; my usual respite was – less restful." Unspoken, both understood that what Obi-Wan referred to was unconsciousness, not sleep. "I used the Force far more than I should have when escaping as well and I'm afraid this exhaustion is the consequence."

_But…but the Force is limitless. How can one – you're a Jedi _master! Anakin couldn't imagine drawing on the Force to a degree sufficient to wreak havoc on the wielder.

While he was searching for the proper words to respond with, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and sighed. He was obviously trying to send affection and reassurance through the bond, but neither lessened the apprehension of his padawan. "I thought I was the one who tended to worry about things. I'm back, Anakin; let go of your worry."

The two men exchanged long looks, until Anakin swallowed and nodded. Obi-Wan smiled and closed his eyes, seemingly content that for the moment it seemed he was able to offer some comfort to his padawan.

Seemingly, for neither the Force nor the bond seemed to carry more than hints of the Jedi's thoughts or feelings, yet it was not due to anything his master did or did not.

Anakin stayed by his master's side, griping tightly to Obi-Wan's cool hand, until they reached the Healers Ward reception area. He scowled as Healer Neille put out a hand and asked him to wait there, but subsided when Bant came over and with a gentle hand pushed him down into a seat.

"Neille will take good care of Obi, you know that, Anakin. Please wait here."

"Aren't you going to be with him?"

"Shortly, Anakin." Bant's webbed hand gently touched his cheek. "With what happened to him, it's best that Neille and his padawan examine Obi, considering he's my dearest friend. I'll check in on him a bit later."

Before both men were taken into separate exam rooms, Bant leaned over Obi-Wan and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'll be in to see you shortly, okay, Obi? You'll have to stay awake a while longer. I'll be with Alpha, but Neille or I will keep Anakin updated. He has the look of one who is going nowhere until we report just how you are doing."

His eyes flickered to his padawan's face and back to Bant's, gratitude clear in his.

"Thank you – he has seen more than I would like. It upset him badly."

Looking back at his padawan, weariness all too evident in the red-rimmed eyes and slouching posture, Obi-Wan spoke gently but firmly. "Padawan, please rest. You're exhausted from looking after me. I think I'm safe with the healers. Reasonably so."

"So you say now," Neille said dryly, signaling to his waiting padawan to join them.

* * *

"Need some help?" Neille noticed that Obi-Wan was having trouble getting undressed; he struggled to get the top over his head, his shoulders protesting the required range of motion. Neille quickly stepped forward and worked Obi-Wan free, first one arm then the other. 

The healer had seen more than his share of battle wounds and reacted not at all to the abused body revealed by the shirt's removal, but Obi-Wan could not fail to glimpse the flicker of shock in the eyes of the apprentice, a young Bothan not many years younger than Anakin.

"Strange," Neille murmured, visually examining the Jedi's shoulders and back and seeing no apparent injuries, in such stark comparison to his chest.

"That's one spot she couldn't reach," Obi-Wan tried to make a joke of it, earning him a grunt of agreement from Neille, explaining in as few words as possible. Neille nodded, carefully checking the shoulder joints and neck for tears or sprains as Obi-Wan tried not to wince along with the muscles and ligaments as Neille gently checked their range of motion.

"Well, that explains why you are having trouble with your shoulders – those muscles lost elasticity immobilized as they were so long. Let's hope you merely pulled them swinging your lightsaber. You shouldn't have been fighting."

"I didn't like the alternatives." Obi-Wan's mouth set in a grim line that Neille respected.

"I'kk here will get your vitals first and then we'll take a look at the rest of you." The healer changed the subject. "Up on the table. We'll do a full visual, then draw the usual fluid and cellular samples and all before we run the scanner over you, do some blood chem and toxin tests. We're also going to have to take some holopics – for documentation. They'll stay sealed in your file as potential evidence."

"My posterior for posterity, why not?" Obi-Wan quipped, earning a grin from Neille and a soft mewl from Padawan I'kkara. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Neille, suddenly serious and his voice betraying him. "It's been a long time since, well, I've had any reason to make a joke for no reason. Any joking - there - was helping me keep my sanity, reminding me of a life away from there. It's over, isn't it – it's really over? I'm not going to wake up back there, am I?"

"No, Obi-Wan. You're home, you're free now."

"Good. I don't want – to wake up there." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and stared into a memory. "After a while, every time I woke up there, part of me wished I – wouldn't ever wake."

His eyes focused then, and he looked at Neille. "I also didn't want to die, not there, not unless the Force willed it - so I didn't. I did what it asked – I lived. I lived – and, well, here I am."

"Here you are."

"Well." Obi-Wan blew out a deep breath and managed a tiny grin. "Let's finish this so I can get some rest. I'kk, confirm I'm alive, why don't you?"

I'kk looked uncertainly at his master for the Jedi's hands betrayed him, still trembling almost imperceptibly. Neille gave him a moment, before nodding to I'kk to continue with the exam, taking Obi-Wan's pulse, heart rate and blood pressure. Fluid samples of all types were gathered and labeled, ready to be sent to the analyzer.

At one point, I'kk reared back with a soft growl and hiss. It was a soft comment to Neille, but one that Obi-Wan mistook as having another meaning entirely.

"It's okay…I know I'm not a pleasant sight," Obi-Wan commented gently to the padawan, earning him a small smile in return. "I scare me, too."

Neille snorted. "You didn't scare I'kk, but I have no doubt you scared your padawan pretty badly when he got a look at you."

"Anakin?" He couldn't hold the healer's eyes. Scared, no, Anakin hadn't been scared. He had been furious. "I wouldn't say that he was scared, no."

"You tried to hide your condition from him, didn't you?"

"What condition?" That brought Obi-Wan's eyes up, in surprise. "Exhaustion, sore muscles, half-healed wounds - he knew all he needed to at that time. I chose not to reveal, well, what was over and done with. It's not like I was bleeding – at least, I didn't realize that was," he pointed at his leg. "Not until later. I just didn't want to be reminded of everything – to have to talk about what happened."

Somewhat grudgingly, the healer admitted, "The adrenaline rush might initially fool you into thinking you were in better shape than you are – but later? Did you let him help you to clean up? Obi-Wan, that boy is half out of his mind with worry - ."

"Because he saw me! He saw for himself. He walked in on me…," his voice grew strained. "I don't want to talk about it – can we just move on?"

Neille studied the Jedi; then nodded.

"Well then, since you're not bleeding or in need of immediate first aid, we'll start on the full hands-on as well as get you cleaned up a bit," the healer murmured, gesturing to his apprentice to help the Jedi back to a seat on the exam table. "Everything off now; I'kk- hand him a gown. Thanks. Besides the visible blunt trauma and intrusive wounds that we've already seen, anything else we should be aware of?"

"No…I don't think so." Obi-Wan shook his head; he didn't really remember all the details of everything that had been done to him, and if he was honest with himself, didn't care to. He had lived them; remembering them was not necessary. He didn't notice the shiver that ran down his spine, but the quick eye of the healer caught it – and narrowed.

"Okay, swing your legs onto the table and lie back. We'll do all the work; all you have to do is close your eyes and rest. Sorry if we get a bit personal, but every inch of you is getting examined and scanned."

A firm hand on his shoulder guided Obi-Wan backwards. Without that gentle touch, he might have simply fallen backwards and been perfectly happy to do so. Lying down and closing his eyes – sleep – suddenly seemed both a luxury and a necessity. Desperate need had drained his reserves to the point that he seemed merely to exist as exhaustion, and even lying down was almost too much work.

He nearly dozed off despite the hands carefully probing for hidden wounds, torn muscles or broken bones and ligaments, listening to the padawan's low murmur as he first cleansed an area then inventoried the wounds hidden by grime.

The healer watched both I'kk's nimble digits and the scanner's display pad, tapping in notes as the scanner displayed its findings, calibrated to display in layers of several cells each. The deep scans went into the databank where Neille and a surgeon would both review the results together.

Though a few wounds were infected, none of the infections looked to be too severe and the infections remained largely localized. Fading bruises and scars of partially healed wounds displayed in different colors, creating a visual map to be combined into a three dimensional hologram. The information steadily accumulated bespoke weeks of ill treatment, and visual inspection revealed raw skin which betrayed the Jedi's inability to perform even basic personal hygiene.

The story of the Jedi's captivity was visibly written all over his physical body, but the scanner revealed the damage was somewhat more than just what could be seen externally. It was silent on Obi-Wan's weakened Force presence, a dim spot in the Force to anyone Force-sensitive.

Neille's eyes fell on the loosely clasped hands lying by Obi-Wan's side, and he bent over to look closer. Several fingers were clearly broken and poorly healed; the fingers bent and misshapen.

"You should have seen his." Obi-Wan's voice startled Neille. "I bit it down to the bone. Didn't make any difference; I still had to swallow them."

"I - see."

"Not the fingers, the grubs."

"Of course."

Just as quickly, Obi-Wan fell silent again, content to lie there as the healers continued their survey. The low murmur of voices was a mere background distraction as the Jedi submitted to the lengthy and detailed examination and he came close to dozing off.

Every so often, they would have to ask him a question and he would answer without thought: - vibroblade - a lightsaber – oh, a knee - numbly answering their questions with little reaction until a seemingly innocent question penetrated the fog. Somehow he was upright on the exam table, struggling to be free, blindly protesting until the healer's soothing words reached him and he realized where he was.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Obi-Wan shivered suddenly, not even aware why he apologized or why he was shivering, only vaguely aware that his reaction had caused Padawan I'kkara's fur to ripple in swirling waves of distress, for a Bothan's fur reacted to emotional states much as a human's face might with a frown, smile, or twitch. Padawan I'kkara was horrified that because of what was deliberately inflicted; cruel blow by cruel blow, a normally serene Jedi master couldn't easily control a surge of panic and fear.

Being a Jedi master meant one could do what was not easy, and so Obi-Wan fought his way back to control with deep breaths and clenched fists until taut muscles relaxed, giving Padawan I'kkara a glimpse of just an accomplished Jedi could do.

His own apprentice had reacted violently to seeing the evidence of his weeks of mistreatment; Obi-Wan was grateful that Padawan I'kkara's reactions – flared whiskers and whirling fur - was far more restrained. He feared losing emotional control as he had with Anakin should he be forced to speak of it. That near panic and fear on Riflor, on the ship as well, had been next to impossible to wrestle into submission, one reason he had tried to find peace in the void of sleep, finding nightmares instead.

"I don't know what came over me. I don't understand why now – it's behind me."

"I'm sure the mind healers have a big fancy name for it," Neille soothed, touching the Jedi's forehead and sending a calming wave of Force into him. "You're no longer focused on surviving, so your mind is probably just now reacting to your ordeal. Do you need a moment before we go on? I'kk and I will soon be done and you can rest until the test results come back."

Rest. Obi-Wan craved rest, needed rest. The exhaustion was bone deep, weighing down his limbs and muddying his mind. He had used every bit of Force he could access in his escape, and the toll on his body and mind was tremendous. He knew that, the healers knew that – yet, somehow, he felt weak and helpless at a time he wanted to be strong.

Anakin needed him, for one thing. The strain of Jabiim still showed clearly in his eyes. His padawan needed his master's guidance, and Obi-Wan was not strong enough to provide that which was needed.

His friends, who had worried about him for far too long, still worried for him. He wished he could remove that worry by being the Obi-Wan they remembered and hoped so desperately to become again – but he wasn't.

Not yet.

He needed to be who he had been – but knew he never would be. "All experiences change us," he had said more than once. He would never be the same Obi-Wan who left for Jabiim, just as the Obi-Wan who returned from Naboo was not the same one who had gone there. Each time he had lost a part of himself; each time, he had found something within himself he hadn't been aware of.

When he was whole again, he would find who he now was – and hope any change was for the better. He had friends and colleagues who would help him, if he allowed them.

"I'll be okay, I'll get past this," he answered wearily. "Just do what you need to do and ask what you must."

With a pat on his arm, Neille nodded to I'kk to resume. Every fluid possible was drawn out of him for analysis; the healers ran tests and scans until Obi-Wan began to feel like a lab rhyt.

All their poking and prodding, sticking probes in practically each nook and cranny was uncannily similar to his treatment by Ventress, albeit far more gentle and without pain. More than once he had to be told to relax, that it wouldn't hurt.

It didn't hurt, that was true, not physically, but he felt pain all the same. Phantom pain: the stab of memories and the lash of various and sundry instruments of pain. Pain that was receding from memory, slowly, ever so slowly under the gentle words and gentle touches, the concern of friends and colleagues, the care of the healers.

They asked as few questions as possible, which he appreciated. The wounds spoke for themselves; they seemed to know he didn't have the words as yet and only asked him what they needed.

The Force seemed elusive, even here, even in the heart of the Temple. It would be a while before his connection strengthened; he had pulled on it almost to excess while escaping, ultimately pushing himself far too deep into pure exhaustion. As much as he would prefer not to admit it, he had just about collapsed onto the gravstretcher there in the hangar.

As I'kk left with the various samples and scanner notes, Bant stuck her head in the doorway with a whispered, "Hi, Obi." Obi-Wan turned his head and offered her a weary smile, noting how her own smile didn't quite hide a certain sadness and horror.

"I promised Anakin I'd peek in on you and report back to him."

"Tell him that Neille and I'kk are taking good care of me and that I want him to rest and stop worrying. Now, what about Alpha? What kind of shape is he in?"

"Not bad, considering, and a perfect patient, too - he just lay there with his arms crossed saying nothing, not grumbling like a certain Jedi I know. We're just waiting for some test results on him. Like all clones, he's got the constitution of a bantha. I suspect a bacta bath, rest and food and he'll be on his feet in next to no time."

"That's good." Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The energy that had sustained him upon his arrival was long gone.

Bant crossed over to him and touched his cheek. "I'm not used to seeing you so quiet on an exam table, let alone letting my teasing about your 'grumbling' go without challenge."

A tired shrug of his shoulders was all he could manage.

"You are one heck of a scruffy mess, Obi, you know that, but still a wonderful sight to behold. We – or least I – was sure once that I'd never see you again, my friend."

The barely concealed tremor in her voice brought home how hard it was to be left behind; how hard to find the strength to go on. He had learned that lesson years ago; it was the last lesson for Padawan Kenobi and the first for Knight Kenobi.

"Had I allowed myself doubts, I might have thought the same, but I _am_ here." He brushed away a tear slowly sliding down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Bant. I know it had to be hard, not knowing, in some ways it was probably harder than being there – I at least could try to fight back."

A headshake of denial interrupted him, but Obi-Wan would not give her a chance to object. "You, Siri, Anakin – it would have been easier on all of you to believe me dead. I know – you've helped Anakin, you and Siri both – thank you."

"He was in pretty bad shape, he took your disappearance hard," Bant acknowledged. "Siri and I did what we could to help him – they both knew you were alive and suffering when no one else believed. I, too, was sure for so long that you were dead - Garen, too. Anakin was really hurting, Obi – make sure you acknowledge that when you feel better."

"I will," he promised. "Now, why don't you go tell my padawan I survived Neille's poking and prodding and he is to go get a meal and some rest – in his own bed, not one of those horrible seats in the reception area."

"In a moment, I see Neille wants me to help with a few scans since I'kk hasn't come back yet."

After several scans, Neille looked up at Bant and nodded to the door with an understanding look. Under normal circumstances -if she was not tied up with other patients –she would keep Obi-Wan company and explain the procedures to him and what the tests were meant to reveal, so he was surprised to see her go so suddenly.

This time she left, after a tight squeeze on his hand, with a quiet, "I'll be back, Obi, okay?"

"Bant?"

"Let her go," Neille said softly, looking after her then down at Obi-Wan. "She's just a bit upset at what she saw, I think. She was wise to leave you to me and take Alpha instead."

Shortly after they moved him to a bed in one of the rooms – a luxury to lie tucked within crisp sheets – while the healers conferred on diagnoses and treatment, an IV line run into his hand to raise his fluid levels and several blankets covering his all too thin frame. He shivered anyway.

He couldn't help wondering what all the fuss was about, considering he had both escaped and fought his way clear twice. Why didn't they just patch him up and send him to his quarters to rest? He was just about to doze off when the door opened. He opened his eyes and looked up as Bant tiptoed in to check on him, brushing a hand across her eyes.

"What excuse have you healers come up with to keep me here, this time? Bant, does it take all those tests to decide I merely need to sleep for about a week?"

"Oh, Obi," she whispered, but her smile was tremulous. She sat down by his side and gazed at him. "It's not so simple – nothing we can't fix, but some stuff needs fixing. Neille and the surgeon will be in to talk to you shortly – but you're going to be okay, even if physically exhausted for some time."

"Of course I will; I'll be up and trying to keep my padawan in line in a day or so, right?"

"No, Obi. Several days, minimum. Neille and the surgeon can tell you more."

"Humph…you missed me so you just want to keep me here where you can keep an eye on me," he teased.

A tear gathered in her great silver eyes, and Obi-Wan looked at her startled. "Hey, I'll be fine – you said so yourself; what's really the matter?" He grabbed her hand and hung on, not sure with his reduced Force sensitivities what bothered his best friend. "You've seen plenty worse than me, I'm sure, I know I have – injuries I rather wish I hadn't. Sure, I'm not the most magnificent specimen of humankind at the moment, though I've never claimed to be even at my best. I leave that to Garen."

Bant half-smiled.

Garen was good-looking and knew it. He had charm to match, but lacked the conceit that so often went with the two traits: he was loyal and steadfast, a good friend and one that could be relied upon in the direst of circumstances.

"You're far from the worst injured I've seen, true, but it's different when it's your best friend, and then – Alpha, right? – told me some of what happened, and how much worse it was for you. And now you're back, and I can see for myself how you look and imagine what Ventress did to you to make you look like this…."

"Bant, it's okay, I'll be okay," Obi-Wan consoled her. He pushed himself as upright as he could get and gathered her in his arms, laying his head on hers and just holding her as she held him tight, strangely eased by the sweet and salty tang he associated with her as it wafted up his nostrils.

_I, at least, survived_, he wanted to say. He couldn't. So many hadn't, but he couldn't voice the words when so many had lost theirs – he couldn't diminish their lives. Twenty-seven Jedi; thousands of clones, had not survived Jabiim, let alone other battlefields.

He bore the weight of their deaths upon his shoulders, those under his command who had died there on Jabiim and in prior battles, as well as those who had died before him in that citadel of suffering on Rattatak. Someday, he or someone he directed in his stead would find a way to release all the remnants of suffering into the Force, should it be possible, even if it meant dismantling that place piece by piece or assembling a blast of Force to scour the walls, the floors and the very air itself clean.

"I'm home, I'm safe and I'm alive. It's over," he said instead, waiting until Bant looked at him and nodded in agreement. "Here I thought you'd all be good Jedi and release me, and first Siri, now you - well, it would have been a lot easier on you if you had but I admit it feels nice to have been missed."

"Garen was sure you were dead as I was at first – oh, he and Reeft probably don't know. Obi – we've got to let them know. Neither is at the Temple."

Together they drafted a simple text message: Safe – Obi-Wan is alive, home, and safe. The Council would modify it to read: He who was dead is alive, home and safe. Coded appropriately, it would get the message across without breaking the official silence on Obi-Wan Kenobi's return from the dead.

As Bant left to get Council approval to transmit the message, Obi-Wan settled back with a half-smile on his face, imagining both Jedi's reactions to the news. He hadn't really had much of a chance to think of how his supposed death, then resurrection, had affected his friends, and hearing of their worry and grief touched him deeply. He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight with unshed tears, wondering at this yet another unusual emotional reaction, so unlike him.

Yet emotions had been part of what had kept him strong for so long. Thoughts of his friends, his padawan, not just his duty, had helped him keep his focus for as long as he had managed – before the mask.

_The mask_. His throat tightened even more as he remembered how twisted his thoughts had become, how he had fought so desperately to hang onto the good – to the light – only to keep falling, deeper and deeper into darkness. Somehow he had defeated the mask – but _how_ remained elusive, tantalizing, just out of reach.

He clenched his hands into fists as he took deep breaths, trying to breathe out the panic and fear that flooded him just at the thought of that hideous thing. Shame, shame for what he had thought and what he had wished to do and shame for what he had so nearly become. When was he going to finally fight free? He wasn't free – not yet. He only thought he had freed himself from it. Until he knew how, perhaps he never would be free.

A single tear escaped his eye as he fought for calm and finally found enough of the Force to soothe his troubled mind. In time, his eyes closed and he slept, too tired even to dream.


	38. To Laugh is to Not Cry

"Ah, you're awake," a friendly voice greeted Obi-Wan when he stirred and opened his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Mace?" Obi-Wan rubbed still sleepy eyes. "Force, I'm tired. I thought Neille would never finish and let me get some sleep. Other than sticking that needle in my hand, it appears that at least he decided to stop torturing me."

"After all you went through, you're still able to joke, I see." Mace shook his head, somewhat shocked at Obi-Wan's comment, though he wasn't surprised. The day Obi-Wan didn't make some wry comment or joke was the day Mace would _really_ worry. Mace hoped this meant despite his clearly horrific experience, his fellow Jedi was less scarred by the experience that any of them dared hope.

"Obi-Wan, you don't have to hide behind humor, not with me. We're alone, you can let go and admit how terrible your ordeal was."

Still smiling, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, if I don't laugh at it, I'll – no, I need to find the humor in it. If I don't laugh at it – what then do I do? I need it, Mace – I need it. It's all I have."

Humor had always been Obi-Wan's way of disarming stress, one way of dealing with anxiety. Even as a child, Obi-Wan had never wanted to burden others, whether it was normal childhood fears or actual pain. Even with others, Obi-Wan could be counted on to break tension with a well-timed quip or joke; many a negotiation had been saved from dissolving into utter disintegration by his charm and wit when the proceedings threatened to dissolve into chaos.

"You have much more than that, my friend. You have your colleagues and friends. You have your freedom and you have the Force."

The smile faltered a bit then; Obi-Wan's seeming good spirits revealed as armor for his wounded spirit, a defense against vulnerability. Other than the obvious physical wounds, the Jedi all too clearly suffered from equally deep – potentially more serious wounds – of the mind. He had said little of his experiences as yet, as far as Mace knew, and as yet no one pressed him to. Not even his padawan knew.

They would leave that to the mind healers.

"No, actually I don't have the Force. Sometimes, but not always. My sense of humor was one of the last things I lost – so it's the first thing I can try to reclaim. Don't try and take it from me."

"The only thing anyone would dream of taking from you is all your bad memories, Obi-Wan. If we could, we would."

"If you could, I would let you, but the Force will take them eventually. Don't worry, Mace. You know me, soon everything will be released into the Force and I'll be the almost the same Obi-Wan I was. Just let me rest so I have the Force at my command again, and I'll soon be fine."

"You think it will be that easy?" Mace leaned forward, frowning, for there was something in the tone that was decidedly not Obi-Wan. It was as if he spoke words he thought were expected of him, but didn't really believe.

"No – but I have to believe. I have to believe that." With a sigh, Obi-Wan settled more comfortably against his pillow and looked at Mace. "Not that I don't welcome your visit, but why are you here?"

"We thought it best for someone to be with you when a healer couldn't. You've been through quite an ordeal, Obi-Wan. We're happy to have you back, although I do wish it had come much sooner. You looked almost shell-shocked when we first spoke to you."

"It was the light." Obi-Wan cleared his throat, and looked away. His voice grew soft, touched with an aching memory of rediscovering something precious, nearly lost. "The sun was rising and I had forgotten – well, how beautiful the light was. I had – almost forgotten how beautiful it could be. I had all but lost it – even the memory of it was slipping from me. I knew, once it was gone, I would be alone and trapped - there would be only darkness. I was fighting the dark for so long, well – the light was, it was -."

"Yes?" Obi-Wan seemed unaware of the unshed tears glistening in his eyes, so Mace, too, ignored them. He had expected to sit by his friend's side as he slept, before the healers came in, not to have to speak to him without an idea of how best to proceed.

"No." Obi-Wan shook his head, suddenly agitated. "Why does everyone want me to talk about it – first Anakin, now you, it's over and done with. It's the past – I need to live in the here and now, as Qui-Gon admonished me time and again. I sensed something on Naboo, but no – 'put your attention where it belongs, Obi-Wan, on the here and now'- ."

He was almost shouting when he finally snapped his mouth shut and looked away, ashamed and shocked at his outburst. He rubbed his eyes with his one free hand and sighed. "Where did all that come from? I'm sorry, Mace, I'm really sorry."

"Don't be, Obi-Wan." Mace adjusted the blanket around his friend. "I understand."

"I don't. I'm just so tired. I feel like -."

"What?" Mace prompted, wondering if Obi-Wan would finish his thought and at the same time desperately hoping he wouldn't be provoking another outburst.

"- like I want to cry. Why? I never cry, Mace. What happened to me, there, to make me want to cry?"

The honest admission surprised Mace. That was the last reaction he had expected from Obi-Wan, but the healers had warned him before allowing him in to sit with Obi-Wan that his reactions were likely to be abnormal for some time.

"I don't know, but you might want a tissue then," he said, offering one. To his surprise, Obi-Wan laughed, then took it and wiped his eyes.

"I'm not myself."

"You shouldn't expect to be. Who do you think you are?" The look on Obi-Wan's face was priceless; his eyes went wide with first surprise, then mirth. He laughed so hard that he had to wipe his eyes a second time.

"Thanks, Mace. I don't remember the last time I laughed, really laughed."

An emotional man might have been moved to tears. Mace Windu only cleared his throat. "Anytime, Obi-Wan, anytime."

Fingers plucked at the bed covers as Obi-Wan looked anywhere but at Mace. "Why didn't anyone come?"

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan - come?"

"Why didn't anyone come? I shouldn't ask – but why didn't anyone come?"

Understanding flooded Mace. "Most of us were sure you were dead. Those who weren't didn't know where to look. The Force itself was silent on your fate."

"Ah. Yes. Strangely enough, I remember once thinking I would rather rot there than have others risk their lives to save mine. I'd have endured a lot more if it meant others would not die on my behalf, only - I almost fell. I almost drowned in darkness…but I didn't. I got away. The light – it was the most beautiful sight. That's when it started to seem real."

"It _is_ real, Obi-Wan. Believe that, just as I believe that given some time, you'll be feeling like yourself again – unless you do want to try being someone else?"

A genuine smile creased Obi-Wan's face at that. "No, thanks, I'll be happy to be myself again. I know I will be. It's rather strange knowing you're not really yourself, but then I suppose I have a right to be. Some rest, some meditation… some real food."

"Some of Yoda's stew will fatten you up. You need to put some weight back on."

"Force, no, not that stuff." The snort of laughter bubbling up from the abused spirit gladdened Mace immensely. Yoda's stew was infamous among the majority of the human Jedi. Obi-Wan let a hand drift down and brush over his ribs, hidden under the blanket covering him. He made a face. "I have no appetite, but I know what you mean. I'm not a strong candidate for the Holonews 'Faces of the War' stories, am I?"

"When have any of the front line soldiers been?" Mace countered. The holonews had been running profiles off and on for a number of months; usually of some politician declaiming on "Liberty, Democracy, and the Republic."

"Anakin seems to make it with some regularity, to my dismay and occasional amusement. He's young, he seems to be considered good-looking, and his – ah, headlong rushes into 'how-did-he-avoid-a-disaster' exploits seem to have made him somewhat of a poster boy. 'The Hero with No Fear' – hah, they should see him when he thinks I'm about to give him another well deserved lecture."

Both looked up as one of the surgeons entered, studying a data pad. "Well, well, 'Guts' Malone," Mace acknowledged the newcomer, "take good care of him, will you?" He quietly excused himself with a quick pat on Obi-Wan's hand as he nodded to the surgeon, a friend since their mutual days in the creche.

After a quick nod to both men, 'Guts' stood next to the Jedi's bed, seeming to ignore his patient. Obi-Wan waited patiently; figuring the surgeon would speak when he was ready.

"Know what your spleen is for?" he finally asked, brightly, continuing to study the scans though one eye carefully watched the Jedi. A note on the medical chart had given him a bit of guidance on dealing with the Jedi: _Reactions currently unpredictable_. _A bit tense, not surprising, usually relaxes when teased, prefers healers to be blunt._

"No," Obi-Wan replied, a bit distrustfully.

"Me neither. Might as well remove it while I poke about your innards."

"That's not funny," Obi-Wan shot back a bit sourly as the surgeon smiled. _Sense of humor diminished or absent, definitely erratic _were added to the notes. He looked back at the Jedi, and said gently, "No one likes to have part of themselves removed. Makes most patients happy when I tell them I was just joking."

"I'm not most patients," Obi-Wan replied calmly after subduing his unwarranted flash of irritation and idly playing with the name band on his wrist. Color-coded, it was purple. He wondered just what it signified; he had worn blue or green bands before, signifying serious but not life-threatening injuries. It had been blue after Geonosis, his two wounds painful but little more, though he had needed therapy for his leg.

"Indeed not." The surgeon looked directly at him and was suddenly serious, if not brutally honest. "You are one of the most messed up on purpose beings I've seen. Accidents and such are one thing, but what was done to you….sorry, I suppose you know first hand what I'm seeing here." His tight-lipped grimace was not reassuring.

"I have some vague memories, yes," he allowed. Surgeons weren't known for tact, but Jedi were used to blunt talk, and Obi-Wan preferred the truth rather than otherwise.

"We're going to push you into surgery after we've run a few bags of fluids and such into you. We want you a bit stronger before the stress of surgery. How does it feel to be the first Jedi in centuries suffering from Force exhaustion?"

"Surgery? Force exhaustion – what's that?" He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.

"Surgery, have to fix those fingers of yours," 'Guts' confirmed. "Force exhaustion – well, that took a while for Neille to figure out, but the extreme exhaustion you're feeling as well as your reduced Force presence was the key. You exceeded the limits of your mind and body, in short, drawing on the Force to keep going when you should have otherwise collapsed. Most reported cases were less severe than yours. With time and rest, they all recovered just fine."

"The more extreme cases?" From the measured look given him, he knew even before the surgeon replied. "It could have killed me?"

"If you had kept drawing on the Force, yes. Those who died did so before healers could get to them."

"I should be grateful to be here, then. That degree of exhaustion – I was a bit concerned, I'll admit."

"Don't be. The cure is pretty simple – plenty of sleep. The hardest part of the recovery is mental: facing the erratic ability to touch the Force. You have a padawan strong in the Force, with the strength of your bond, he should be able to help you if necessary, speeding your recovery."

"What about Alpha – the man who came in with me? He's in worse shape than I am."

"Actually, he's not. He's pretty messed up, too, but he doesn't seem to think it's much. He needs a fair amount of stitching up, but there's not much we can do for the bruising. He's getting a round of fluids and stuff, too; then he'll be in the tank while you're in surgery. He probably won't stay with us for long, not as long as you will."

"I'm exhausted, not half dead. I fought Ventress and bounty hunters to escape so how bad can I be?" Obi-Wan demanded in surprise. "I'm well aware I overdid my use of the Force in the shape I'm in, but sleep will take care of that. I just need some time – in fact, why are you going to take me into surgery?"

The surgeon held up the x-rays and test results. "This is why, Master Kenobi. This is not a healthy patient's chart, but we'll soon set you to rights. You're suffering from more than just Force-exhaustion. Your blood chemistry is a mess – your blood volume is way down …. You have some damage from those – vibroblades, right? – wounds and those fingers we need to re-break and set properly. After that you get our special deluxe bacta treatment."

His face fell. So much for a quick stay in the healers.

"You've got some internal organ damage I won't understand until I get inside – it's not consistent with what we know of your treatment in captivity." He cocked an eyebrow at his patient, it almost looked as if the Jedi had been messing around internally himself, unlikely as that seemed.

"I knew there had to be a better way of killing those grubs," Obi-Wan grumbled. At the surgeon's inquiring look, Obi-Wan explained.

The surgeon was appalled. "A damn clumsy job you made of it - you could have killed yourself doing that without proper training. Considering the alternative, though," he sighed. "Still, a Jedi's got to do what a Jedi's got to do to stay alive. At least we can fix the damage you caused – and if you hadn't succeeded, well, we'd have no damage to fix because you'd be dead. The damage is irreversible after approximately a week without treatment."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rose as he continued to stare at his chart. He didn't understand it all, but by length alone, he could tell he was in worse shape than he'd thought. As for his midichlorian count - if he was being tested for admittance to the Order, he would never be accepted.

"Will my midi count come back up?" he asked, concerned.

"Strange thing about your midis – they're almost in hibernation. What you're seeing is not a true count, more like a measure of the current effectiveness of your midis: the count is only seeing the healthy midis. Neille might be able to tell you more; I'm a surgeon. Most of yours are tucked up tight against the cell walls, inactive, instead of floating in the cells' center, which may partially account for your Force exhaustion, but not entirely. Neille is researching this and will talk to you later. Any idea what might have caused them to dig in like that?"

The mask! He had felt the Force draining from him… he remembered the panic, the fear, the hopelessness… he swallowed hard. _A Jedi does not know fear_. Fear leads to…the dark places he'd gone into; had managed to escape from once, but not untarnished.

"Perhaps," he choked, unable to get any other words out and not realizing he had gone absolutely white. He swallowed hard and turned his head away, clearly not wanting to talk any more. His fingers curled in against the palms of his hands, rigid at his side as he tried to breathe the memory away.

After a moment's silence, the surgeon cleared his throat. "After surgery and the tank, it'll be a while before you're up and around much – it'll take a while to recover your strength and get your midis functioning again. No more messing around at the cellular level, either, you leave that to the healers."

"Unless absolutely necessary," Obi-Wan agreed, having regained some control of his surging emotions after several deep breaths

"After surgery and the tank, it'll be the mind healers turn." The surgeon dropped his voice and whispered conspiratorially, "If I were you, I'd stay here as long as possible."

Obi-Wan held up his hand and pointed to the purple band, raising an eyebrow as he did so. "Ah, signifying mind healers?"

The surgeon smiled. "Council members. Mace Windu insisted."

It was plausible, but somehow Obi-Wan doubted it. Council members might be the current leaders of the Order, but they were first among equals, not an elite, and entitled to no special treatment or respect.

Still – purple? Mace did have a fixation on that color. He was still smiling as he fell asleep.

* * *

The shrill beeping of the heart monitor brought Neille in to check on him, to find Obi-Wan twitching in the grip of a bad dream. It was perfectly understandable that the Jedi's dreams would be unpleasant ones – the surprise was that he was not thrashing about, but coiled up as if he were withdrawing into himself. 

_Pain so bad his toes curled…and he_

_- _laughed

_A voice, fractured with pain, asking why he didn't do something…and he answered, because he found watching the blood drip_

_- _entertaining

_A whisper in his mind: one should not hate…and his rage at hearing this, that one should accept such agony and not hate…the pain, the acid in his throat and the flames in his veins…_

…a scream tore from his throat and Obi-Wan bolted upright_…_to find Neille bending over him and looking a little astonished at his abrupt movement.

"No," he hoarsely whispered, shaking his head. "Don't put me to sleep, please. Don't send me back there – please don't." He didn't want to sleep. Sleep brought dreams, only the dreams he dreamt were nightmares – of Alpha's tortures, his delight in it – Force help him, he didn't want to be the man in the dreams – reliving the nightmares the mask had already forced him to live.

"No! Please!" he protested in vain as the needle slipped into his arm; his protests only ceasing as the sedative took effect. Neille pulled up a chair and sat down, laying a hand over his patient's forehead. The monitors resumed their usual and steady rhythm. Obi-Wan was resting now, for now free of the nightmares that plagued him during his sleep.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan, this sedative should keep you from nightmares," he murmured.

The healer looked up as another Jedi entered the room: Yoda, eyes concerned and watchful.

"How is Master Kenobi? In distress, I thought he was." He moved slowly over to the Jedi's bedside and silently studied him as he leaned on his gimer stick.

"He was having a nightmare," the healer said, turning his eyes away from his patient. "I'm sure he'll have more. He can't really call on the Force to help him deal with things yet. Whatever strength has kept him going is failing him now."

"Ah, Force exhaustion they told me," Yoda nodded in understanding. "Not common it is, but cured by time and rest it is. Tortured I know he was - how is he otherwise?"

"Medically, he's a bit of a mess, but he'll recover just fine without any physical aftereffects, once he's had surgery and immersion in the bacta tank. At least – the one thing we're not sure about is his midis. We're still running some tests, but we aren't sure what's going on with them, or how long it'll take them to recover."

"Good to hear that recover he will. Mentally, what after effects should we expect – heard already that snapped at Mace Windu he did. Few would so dare." There was a hint of a chuckle at the last, but Yoda's eyes showed only sadness and concern.

"Psychologically – he hasn't really spoken much of his experience as yet. I don't think he's quite ready to really face it, and he's weak enough that he probably can't. His sleep seems to be haunted by surfacing memories, so I'm trying to suppress them for now. Hopefully this sedative will do a better job than the first one."

"Need a mind healer he does."

"After his surgery and bacta immersion, he'll have one. It's pretty obvious his ordeal was deeply disturbing, and I personally don't doubt that he was pushed to hate and anger. Anyone, any Jedi, would be after what he experienced. He won't want to admit to it, knowing our Master Kenobi."

"Sit with him, I will," Yoda said softly, taking the chair that the healer vacated. "Strong enough you think he is now?"

"Not as strong as we'd like, but strong enough. They'll be taking him into surgery shortly," Neille advised. "The anesthesiologist will be here soon."

"Stay I will until then." Yoda reached a clawed hand and let it rest lightly on the forehead of the sleeping Jedi, sending a brush of the Force against the now quiet mind. "A bond of sorts we have, sooth him I can if the Force wills it."

It was a variation of a sleep suggestion, using hypnotic suggestion to wipe the mind from thoughts and worries. Touching the mind of another Jedi like this required experience or a connection to the Jedi in question. Yoda had both.

"A good rest you will have, Obi-Wan. Soon enough you will have to deal with this; rest now you need. Strength you will need later. Done well you have, for survived you have. The hard part, now it comes."

Neille nodded in silent agreement, looking at the Jedi who had been so cruelly treated, crease lines of pain and exhaustion less apparent in sleep. He thought of the clone trooper in the next room over, being taken care of by his fellow healers, and shook his head at the cruelty that some sentients were all too capable of inflicting on others.

All to often, it was up to healers like himself to put the broken parts back together – in this particular case, surgeon, healers and mind healers would have to work together to repair the damage.

"Will you be here when he comes out of recovery, Master Yoda? I suspect as the anesthesia wears off, he'll have more nightmares." Neille noticed the elder Jedi's hand gently pat Obi-Wan's, and knew the answer before the gentle voice spoke.

"Be here I will, or another in my place. Alone, he shall not be."


	39. Comfort Comes in Little Ways

Part of Anakin wanted to fume like a little boy denied his heart's wish when Bant relayed his master's message to rest and to eat. He could not disobey a direct order from a knight, or an indirect one from a master, especially when that master was his own. 

Instead, he merely nodded, for he realized that Bant was correct. He was tired, he was hungry, and he would be no comfort to Obi-Wan sitting in a hard chair in the reception area. Considering his master's extreme exhaustion, he most probably would be sleeping – peacefully, Anakin hoped – once the healers were through evaluating his condition. He would reluctantly obey his master's request he clean up and rest. 

He walked to his quarters with no heed of those whom he passed, barely noticing the new black bands on doorways. He was feeling the let down that followed the release of great tension. The cessation of stress as well as guilt for leaving his comrades behind to die on Jabiim was an aching pit in Anakin's stomach, temporarily pushed away in his concern for his master. 

He had been learning to live with all that, all that horror overlaid by sheer delight and happiness when he realized his master was alive, joy multiplied a hundredfold when he'd actually thrown his arms around Obi-Wan. It hadn't registered then, the bony hardness of a body reduced from healthy vigor to un-muscled skin over bone; of bruises, contusions and lacerations. His eyes had not seen; no, it had been his heart that had felt, soothed by the presence of one too long denied to his own battered spirit.

Finally, at last, his living nightmare had yielded to reality. The padawan had felt the reality of his master under his hands. Not just alive, either, but relatively whole if not unscathed in body, though haunted by experiences he would not share.

A part of Anakin – a part that he hated to admit was him – had needed to know that all the pain he had suffered on Jabiim – the rain, the deaths, the defeat – the torture of knowing Obi-Wan was alive, needing him, unable to go to him - was no less for his master. He had died a thousand deaths on Jabiim without Obi-Wan there to guide him through it. 

He had had to know Obi-Wan had suffered equally. 

He had needed to know that so badly he had all but battered his way past his master's tattered but still strong shields to find his knowledge and would have pulled every bit of Obi-Wan's memories into his mind no matter his master's resistance – but Obi-Wan had not resisted. Obi-Wan had yielded to him the one thing that had stopped him from destroying his master's shields and perhaps further wounding his mind: his torturer's name.

His rage had turned outward then, and for a moment Anakin had been unaware of anything but hatred, hot and empowering. A soft whimper, audible only through the Force, had brought his eyes back to find Obi-Wan again suffering, but suffering from his own padawan's assault, and the hot rage cooled into an icy rage of firm determination. Of vengeance. Ventress would pay. He would personally see to that. 

But then…pity had overtaken him and he had dropped to his knees and wrapped his shaking master in his arms, bending his head over the one he held pressed to his heart.

Protecting him. From others. From himself.

He loved his master. Not as much as his mother or Padme, perhaps not as much as Qui-Gon Jinn, but more than any other being he knew. 

He had always hated the reprimands and the scoldings, deserved or not, for he had always feared that they were a sign that his master didn't love him as he loved his master. 

Doubts he had not harbored at first had come as he grew into adolescence, doubts he thought his friend the Chancellor shared though he said little on the subject – it was the fact that the normally verbal man chose to hold his tongue that spoke volumes; his pained looks of sympathy. 

The bond had trembled and quivered with Obi-Wan's pain, and Anakin knew now just how close he had come to destroying his master's fragile control. Had he exploded those shields, Obi-Wan might never have recovered from the shock. He knew that, even if his master didn't. 

Despite all that, despite the pain the padawan had inadvertently forced on the master, Obi-Wan had accepted his comfort without complaint, content where he was, in his padawan's sheltering arms. In some ways, Obi-Wan _had_ needed the human touch – the very thing later on Anakin had thought Obi-Wan always refused.

_Force, Master, I'm so sorry_, he thought. _I'm so – dense sometimes. In some ways, I'm worse than Ventress – for I love you and would never willingly hurt you_. _Whether you want me there or not, I'll be at your side. I'll be there, should you ever need me._

A chastened Anakin cleaned up, grabbed a quick meal and tumbled into bed. He slept restlessly, faces of the dead and the face of the tortured swimming in his mind: dreams of their deaths and dreams of his master's ordeal. Because of his uneasy sleep, he never heard the comlink, never knew that Obi-Wan had gone in, or come out, of surgery.

He didn't hear, either, the second chiming of the comlink, or the third. When he finally dragged himself out of his bed, he didn't bother to straighten his bed and headed for the 'fresher to splash some cold water on his face. He sourly reflected that interrupted sleep was worse than none at all, and he should have followed his first instinct to stay planted where he had been.

Rubbing still-red eyes, he checked his comlink – and found the three messages. 

"Surgery?" He sat down hard, contemplating how best to kick himself in the rear. Two of the messages were from Bant, the first advising that Obi-Wan was in surgery and not to worry, it was nothing major, and one advising that he had been moved out of recovery and Anakin was welcome to visit, though not to expect his master to awaken for some time yet.

With Bant's words playing in his mind, Anakin relaxed a bit, though still upset at not knowing in advance.

Long strides carried him to the healers ward; a frown of irritation on his face. The unvoiced concern of Jedi he passed washed through the Force in his wake, a concern that the padawan hurried because of a possible set back for his master. Anakin forced himself to a slower pace and managed to mask his feelings from visible expression, not wanting to alarm those who knew little other than that Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, freed from captivity and back at the Temple.

He most definitely did not want to encounter a group of younglings he could hear approaching, either; their excited chatter far in advance of their appearance. They would be harder to brush off than the older Jedi, and Anakin had no inclination to summon the patience to speak to them. 

Briefly he wondered about their reaction to the supposed death of his master; Obi-Wan was a frequent visitor to their precincts. 

Had they heard of his return? Would they ask questions he was not prepared to answer? He would let the Creche Masters speak all that needed to be spoken, so he averted his head and hurried past, mercifully unrecognized.

With a sigh of relief, he stepped into the reception area of the Healers Ward. Bant was quick to greet him and quick to explain that Obi-Wan was doing just fine and was still asleep as she led him to his room.

"Stay as long as you want; he won't wake for a while yet so you won't tire him out," she said. She leant over her friend and whispered, "Your padawan's here, Obi. You just sleep and let Anakin talk to you, okay?" 

Then there was just he and his master in the softly lit room; Obi-Wan with eyes closed and arms at his side, peaceably asleep before him. No nightmares, Anakin thought with relief. Reassured by Bant's parting smile, he pulled up a chair and sat down at the bedside, one hand softly overlaying his master's hand. 

"Well, Master, you sure had me fooled," he said softly. "Surgery, huh? I knew you didn't look so good, but I didn't know you needed surgery. I was asleep, my master's orders." 

He swallowed hard, remembering his first sight of his master's poor, abused body, now not visible under the covers. He hadn't been able to restrain his fear or his anger at the sight, not then, but after that first initial shock he had been able to transmute his shock and revulsion into focused resolve: to avenge his master's suffering.

"I would have been here; you know that, don't you, Master? I would have been – _there, too_ – for you as well, if I could. They wouldn't let me go after you. If truth be told, I only knew that you needed me and that I – needed to be there as well, to save you. I didn't know where to go, though, so I didn't go anywhere – and you paid for that. 

"If I told you that – that all I did was sit and worry, getting more and more frustrated while doing nothing - would you be able to forgive me? Remember our deal; you get into trouble and…and I get you out, like so many times before… only this time I didn't get you out, did I? I let you down.

"I can stand almost anything but seeing you hurt. I can stand a lot, except your pain or your disappointment when I let you down. I do that a lot, don't I? I don't do it to aggravate you, though, I just – _do_. It usually works out in the end, though twice now I've almost lost you – once on Geonosis for not listening to you, then to –to Ventress. Then on Riflor, when you most needed comfort, you got my anger. I'm so sorry, Master, I truly am." 

He brushed a strand of hair back from the quiet brow, listening to the slow rhythm of his master's breathing. Under his fingers, he felt a slight twitch and to his surprise, he saw eyelids trembling to open.

"Hi, it's me, I'm here with you," he whispered. "Don't worry, I'm here."

He wrapped Obi-Wan's hand in his, careful of the soft splints, and felt a finger or two try to wrap around his palm. The gesture seemed more instinctive than deliberate, but Anakin didn't care – his master had responded to him, whatever the reason. He grinned, his heart swelling with affection. 

Eyes blinked at him a few times before Obi-Wan fell back to sleep; the hand lying within the padawan's larger hand once again limp and unmoving. Smiling because his master had blinked at him, Anakin laid his head on the bed side, softly caressing the hand within his as he listened to the sounds of his master's life, expressed in regular breaths and a steady heartbeat.

To his own surprise, he fell asleep, for he woke to find his head still pillowed at his master's side with several of Obi-Wan's fingers twisted in his hair as if he had attempted to stroke his hand through his hair and fallen asleep in the middle of the gesture.

It was a strangely touching gesture, one that was both unexpected and welcome. Obi-Wan had reached out to him, consciously or not, reached to his padawan, not the Force.

The knowledge helped to ease the ache in his heart. Despite everything, despite failures and mistakes, despite hurtful words and lack of words, and despite actions and lack of actions, their master/padawan relationship remained strong. 

Carefully disentangling splinted fingers from his hair, Anakin smiled fondly at the sleeping man. "Hey, Master, I'll come back later to see you. Next time you'd better be awake; I like to talk to a conscious master rather than a sleeping one."

With a final pat of his hand, Anakin pushed the chair back and left. He would come back later when Obi-Wan was truly awake. The healers had assured him that Obi-Wan had come through surgery without complications; he would be physically fine after a short bacta immersion and rest.

He would have his master back shortly. The man he knew would release everything to the Force and be whole within days, for Obi-Wan Kenobi was never one to hold onto emotions for long. His ordeal would soon be behind him. The scars would last far longer for the padawan, for whom release was not so easy.

* * *

Needing his own kind of release, Anakin headed down to the training sallé. It was always easier for him to work out stress via physical exertion. Meditation never came easy to him, one reason his master had often assigned him extra sessions. When he worked out, all his attention was focused down to that one moment: the coordination of mind and muscle. When he acted, he had no need to think, and all his thoughts and emotions could be channeled into movement.

The restrained chatter of mid-level padawans exiting a class swirled around him, silencing somewhat as he passed amongst them. He hid a smile; feeling strangely eased moving amongst them. Younger padawans and initiates alike gave him a respect he often found lacking in his age mates and elders: his skill with the saber was the standard they strove to attain and his connection to the Force one they strove to emulate. 

Unconsciously, his back straightened and his walk lengthened into a measured and steady stride as befitted a padawan with a destiny. 

Respect. The padawans respected him. The citizens of the Republic respected him. Even his enemies respected him.

Only those who counted themselves his superiors did not offer him the respect so easily obtained elsewhere. Knights and masters alike; to them, Anakin Skywalker was Padawan Skywalker, not yet worthy to be one of them, and yet more skilled than nearly all of them.

Murmurs brushed against him. 

"He saved his master again, did you hear?" 

"That's not what I heard; Master Kenobi saved himself."

"No, Anakin did. Master Kenobi would be dead except for Anakin."

"I hear the healers rushed him up to the ward and no one knows whether he will live or not, but Anakin doesn't look at all worried."

"I heard Master Kenobi was just being checked out and is perfectly fine, even joking with the healers. I heard he wasn't tortured at all, just held captive."

"I heard that he yelled at Master Windu."

There was awed silence at that, followed by a few disbelieving whispers that no one, except maybe Master Yoda, would be so brave. No one would be so foolish - not even Padawan Skywalker would dare do more than scowl at the grim Jedi master. Anakin hid a smile. If there was any truth to that rumor, he wanted to hear about it.

"Anakin." 

His name was repeated, until it caught his conscious attention and he turned to face the knight who had followed the padawans out of the sallé. Siri was staring at him quizzically, a half smile on her face and her hair still damp from her post-workout shower.

"Anakin, I asked how you are doing."

"He's asleep…," Anakin blinked, and realized the question was not how his master was, but how _he_ was. He felt a surge of emotion that took a moment to identify: it was relief and it was gratitude; someone actually cared enough to ask how he felt. No one else had – not even his master. Padme would, but he hadn't spoken to her yet.

He quickly bowed to her, a sketchy bow as befitted one he counted as a friend, yet respectful to one ranked above him in the Order.

"I'm fine, Siri. I'm fine – my master hasn't woken up yet, not really, since surgery." He paused, but Siri only nodded as if she knew everything. She probably did; Bant no doubt would have told her. "I thought once he was waking up, but he didn't. Despite that, he knew I was there. He knew…." He shook his head in wonder. "I fell asleep at his side and he reached out to me."

Siri looked at him with a "well of course he did" look that surprised him, before speaking. "You're his padawan and he is always concerned about you."

"I know, concerned that I'm not applying myself, concerned that I'm not behaving like a proper padawan and concerned that I don't stop to think before acting. I'm sure you heard plenty about my failings, especially after, well, you know, when he almost got killed by Dooku."

Itching to avenge those dead and those who might so easily have been dead, there in the arena on Geonosis, he could not restrain his impatience when faced with the man he held responsible, and had only succeeded in leaving his master to face a one on one fight that Obi-Wan had already said he was in no shape to handle alone.

He'd actually managed to escape a major dressing down, deserved though it had been. Even Obi-Wan Kenobi was not about to chastise his padawan when said padawan had lost an arm and was lying in the healers full of self-pity and self-recrimination. Anakin had realized his error even as he had made it; he knew that Obi-Wan had seen the depths of his regrets in his determination to protect his master as he had intercepted Dooku's blade. 

No punishment Obi-Wan could dish out could even come close to his self-inflicted pain: the knowledge that his hasty action had nearly resulted in his being orphaned.

The dreams that had accompanied his pain-filled descent into unconsciousness; the same dreams that had awoken as did he were made of equal amounts of guilt and joy. Guilt: that he might have lost his master from rash and impetuous action; joy: that Padme had survived her fall from the gunship to come and comfort him after his defeat at Dooku's hands. Happiness to have not lost the one, and to have gained the other: happiness that his love was reciprocated by one who had confessed her heart to him.

Dreams had given way to reality, pain-medicated awareness that though far too many Jedi had died in that dusty arena, those he cared most about had not, proven by eyes that had met his when Anakin had struggled awake. His master's eyes; warm and relieved, not eyes holding rebukes and reprimands. 

"I'm sorry, Master, I could have lost you." He had tried to reach out, to touch the man whom he had almost seen killed and whom he had come so close to never being able to touch ever again. His good arm was tethered to an IV and all he could do was stretch out his fingers, not his arm. 

Obi-Wan reached out and clasped the hand reassuringly, picking up on his padawan's need.

"But you didn't," his master had assured him, his relief at his padawan's first coherent words clearly visible in his face. He had shifted in his seat, and Anakin saw that his arm was in a sling; his bandaged leg elevated on a seat. "Anakin, sometimes I wonder at you – but then you know that already, don't you? I don't have the heart right now to speak to you as I should. I'm just pleased you're recovering so well."

"I know I was wrong, Master," he had murmured. Obi-Wan had only sighed and shook his head. "Consider me reprimanded. I know everything you need to say, and I've thought it a million times myself."

Then everything had been swept aside as he remembered his mother's death. Grief overwhelmed him; he remembered little now except his master's arms around him and his voice softly crooning in his ear. He had clutched his master to him and everything else evaporated from consequence.

He had vowed then to never experience such grief a second time. Nothing, no one, no thing, would ever touch anyone he loved, ever again.

That vow had been forsworn; his word shattered by a cruel woman with no scruples and no humanity within her soul. An emissary of darkness who stole his master away and did her best to destroy a bastion of the light – and had came close to succeeding. 

For the man that now lay in the Healers Ward was but a pale imitation of his master; a man he didn't quite recognize and one he yearned to have made whole.

A hand on his arm brought him back to the conversation. Siri was looking at him, giving him a chance to return from his thoughts to the present. When she saw she had his attention, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Anakin, what you did on Geonosis was already addressed by Obi-Wan, I'm sure. You were impulsive and rash, I won't deny, but few padawans make it to knight without behaving no differently at least once. Obi-Wan could tell you a bit about being reckless when young; I'm sure he has never done more than merely try to pass on the benefit of his own hard-won experience."

Remembering the conversation between Master Mundi, his master and himself aboard the ship bringing them from Riflor to the Temple, Anakin nodded, understanding in a way he had never done before. It was still hard to reconcile the master he knew: patient, steady and decisive, as a sometimes rash and reckless padawan who nearly lost his chance to become a knight.

"I wasn't talking about your so-calling failings though – I'll leave that to Obi-Wan, whose job that is." Siri winked at him, and Anakin slowly grinned back. "I'll bet that he even spent part of his time in captivity worrying about you just as, even on Jabiim and here now, you worried about Obi-Wan. A master is just as concerned with his padawan, more so, since the master is raising a child to an adult as much as guiding a padawan to knighthood. Obi-Wan is your teacher as you are his student, but he would be a fool if he tried to deny you had become more to him that."

Despite himself, Anakin grinned. "My master is anything but a fool."

"Good thing you realize that," Siri batted back at him.

"He can be a stubborn, aggravating, perfectionist – ."

"- a conscientious to a fault, stubborn gundark, but -."

They both concluded together, "Never a fool." They exchanged grins.

"Anakin, Obi-Wan cares about you just as much as you do for him. Your master needs you right now, whether or not he even realizes it, just as he knows you need him, whether you admit it or not. Because of that, he will try to be there for you even when he is the one that needs support and comfort. He'll try his best, even now, even if he has to drag himself awake first."

"That sounds like the 'attachment' we're always cautioned to avoid," Anakin said, frowning a little.

"No, not 'attachment' as the Jedi define such. Duty, commitment to the Force, to the service of others must be primary over a Jedi's personal and professional relationships. You must know how much I value my friendship with Obi-Wan; yet no matter how desperately I wanted to keep him here, safe – I let him go. I truly thought the Force was warning me he wouldn't come back, not this time. I thought I was saying goodbye forever, but I still said goodbye and I tried to prepare myself to live my life without Obi-Wan in it."

"I would have found a way to make him stay, if the Force warned me he was going to die," Anakin declared, dumbfounded at Siri's words. 

"But he didn't die, Anakin."

He hated it when older Jedi used that "reasonable" tone of voice with him, the voice that cautioned him to think. "But he might have!"

"If he was in danger –when? Where? In transport? On Jabiim? If the danger was immediate and obvious, of course I would have stopped him, saved him if I could. What was I supposed to save him from? Who knows what the consequences might have been had I tried to stop him from going!" 

"And look at the consequences of letting him go! If you'd listened to the Force and stopped him, he wouldn't have had to suffer! You let him go, thinking he'd die, but what he went through was almost worse than dying!"

"I know," Siri said softly, and Anakin's growing anger dissipated when he heard the pain and sorrow in her voice.

"What if I'd made him stay – and instead of his captivity, you went alone, died instead? What if the death of the "Chosen One" would have ruined everything Obi-Wan is fighting for? I had a feeling only of danger – it could have been his death, it could have been his captivity, or it could have been any one of a hundred things. What if instead of going – of being imprisoned, suffering and _surviving_ - he had instead been sent elsewhere - where he didn't survive?" 

"I don't know," Anakin groaned unhappily, all too painfully aware that though he might well have lost his mentor, his teacher, his friend - the man he had just left recovering in the Healers Ward was, thankfully, alive and recovering. "I just know if you hadn't let him go, he wouldn't have had to face all that."

"But he survived, Anakin, he survived," Siri said, reminding him of the most important fact. "We didn't lose someone we both value very much, thank the Force. Believing he was dead…hurt. Releasing him…," she shook her head. 

"But you never believed he was dead, either – you didn't release him."

"Because, like you, I knew he wasn't dead after the first shock of hearing about his death wore off. I was going to hold onto him as long as he held onto life, and I would have released him to the Force had it claimed him. To be a Jedi is to know how to let go when necessary, no matter how hard. Once you know and can accept that deep within your core, then a padawan is just about ready to be knighted – all that is left is the trials, assuming all the skills have been mastered, as well."

Anakin raised troubled eyes to the knight, and asked hesitantly, "Are you saying that I am not ready to face the trials yet? Do you agree with my master and the Council?"

"We're not talking about you, Anakin – and I'm not in a position to judge your readiness. Only your master and the Council can address that."

"They doubt my power. Siri, sometimes I'm stronger in the Force than my own master; I win half our sparring sessions. I'm ready."

If he didn't know better, Anakin might have thought he saw the minutest headshake on the knight, similar to the ones Obi-Wan gave him, along with the hand on the shoulder and the merest pursing of his lips when his master explained yet again what the padawan still had left to learn. 

"Anakin, don't get sidetracked. We were talking about why Obi-Wan is concerned for you, even now, when one might think he wouldn't be thinking of others. You're his padawan, the young man he is raising from a boy to a man and the Jedi he is teaching. He will always be concerned for you. He has to know how hard his absence was on you – he does know, right, that you always knew he was alive?"

"Well…." Anakin shrugged. In the excitement of being reunited he had blurted out something to that effect.

"Not at first, I was too busy getting angry at how he looked; I was – furious to think someone would treat my master the way he looked like he had been treated," he admitted. "Force, Master Siri, you saw him there in the hangar, sure he acted like he was okay but you could see he wasn't by the way he walked, or the look in his eyes."

"Oh, I saw all right," Siri reminded him. "My heart just about stopped when I got a good look at him – than he smiled – and nothing mattered except that he was back in one piece, alive and smiling."

"I was talking to Bant when you greeted him, "Anakin remembered suddenly, glancing with an impish smile at Siri. "Did you return his kiss?"

"Kiss?"

The startled and incredulous look Siri directed at him made Anakin dismiss any possible thoughts of any real romantic interest between the two. It was a fantastic thought in the first place. His master and Siri, both, were too self-contained and reserved – too Jedi. He remembered even eavesdropping once and overhearing Obi-Wan shushing Garen up about some new lady friend with a, "Gar, I'm not interested in your love life."

Anakin would wager good credits neither Jedi, ever, at any time had ever cast an appreciative eye at someone of the opposite gender; had ever once been at the mercy of adolescent hormones. 

Puberty had definitely aroused _his_ interest in the opposite sex, long before Padme re-entered his life a few years later.

He had only known Padme when he was a boy, too young to appreciate her as a man appreciated a woman. That hadn't come until their reintroduction, when that boy now man saw his unattainable angel as a real, attainable woman, one to pursue until his. His angel was now his wife and his life partner; the woman of his dreams became the woman of his reality.

But long before that reunion he had celebrated his life day with friends, an important life day. He had reached the age of consent, and the Chancellor had arranged for dinner and a party at one of Coruscant's finest restaurants in celebration. 

At some point, most of his friends had left the gathering, mentioning curfews and disapproving masters if they didn't return home sober and on time. Only he and another padawan had remained. They'd left together, both a little tipsy and well – he'd always been warned hormones and alcohol didn't mix. It was one of many lessons Anakin had been all too willing to ignore. 

He was, however, far from averse from learning certain lessons; he had excused himself with the thought that his master encouraged him to broaden his educational experiences, though he was all but certain that Obi-Wan had never quite had this kind of educational experience in mind. 

Anakin, unfortunately, remembered little of that night. Somehow Master Yoda had intervened; he remembered little except a disapproving _thwack_ of a gimer stick against his backside as the little master found them in the Temple hangar and sent them both packing to their masters after making sure both were properly tidied up. 

He still wished he didn't remember the look on his master's face. Obi-Wan had said nothing when Anakin stumbled in, sitting in his chair with a frown on his face and a cake on the table; he had merely stood and put his woozy and ecstatic apprentice to bed.

The next day had been excruciating for Anakin, his master's disapproving scowls and his constant fetching of cool towels in such counterpoint as the sick apprentice swayed on unsteady knees in the fresher. 

After the nausea had subsided, Anakin miserable and sick, the only thing Obi-Wan had said to him was, "Take these," and once he'd swallowed the pills, "Sleep," with a firm hand against his forehead, once he was tucked back in his bed. It was not until the day after when Obi-Wan had finally let loose with all the words he had been holding in – and Anakin had thrown more than a number of his own back. 

That had been the beginning of many contentious years between them: Anakin wanting the freedom of maturity, and Obi-Wan trying to teach him the responsibilities that came with it.

"Ah, Master Obi-Wan kissed you on the forehead when we left. I was teasing him that maybe you'd kiss him when we arrived. I guess you didn't, but you should. I'd love to see the expression on his face if you did."

"Well, then, perhaps I shall kiss him when I see him – just to see that expression, of course. What kind of kiss would you suggest?"

Anakin realized just what he had said; a Jedi padawan was telling a Jedi knight to kiss a Jedi master. "Uh, forget I said anything, okay?"

"No, Anakin, you instructed me to kiss Obi-Wan, and so I shall, since you seem to think it necessary for his recovery. A Jedi never shirks from her duty, no matter how onerous. If it's a kiss Obi-Wan needs, then it's a kiss he'll get."

He had probably overstepped once again, but this time the action had provoked a humorous response, not a scolding, for Siri's eyes were dancing at him. She liked to unsettle his master with pranks from time to time. A grin began to spread over his face. 

Siri never did anything halfway. Obi-Wan was going to get the surprise of his life.


	40. Reaching for the Light

The first thing he was aware of was light. Soft and subdued, the opposite of encroaching shadows, of descending darkness that obscured the light and threatened to entirely swallow it. Light…and he reached for it. Light…he struggled to get to the light.

Full awareness came slowly as eyes blinked at a familiar tiled ceiling as the soft hum of machines kept a steady rhythm in the background. Light, but it wasn't the Light that he sought, the Light of the Force that greeted him, but that of soft illumination overhead.

"Hi, Obi," Bant said, leaning forward as his eyes fluttered. "Surgery went fine…you're out of recovery. You'll be here for a while before we move you into the bacta tank. Do you need anything?"

"Sleep," he mouthed, his eyes wandering around the room before returning to Bant's face. He felt Bant's hand wrap around one of his and gently squeeze and a tiny smile bloomed on his face at the realization that not all touches brought pain. Not any longer.

Bant seemed to understand what he had been seeking. "I don't suppose you remember blinking at Anakin when he was here sitting with you earlier, but he'll be back after you come out of the bacta. He sat up with you for hours on the trip here: I found him asleep with his head on your bedside and your hand tangled in his hair."

His padawan…yes, he vaguely remembered hearing a voice speaking to him, the comforting presence of someone he knew well. He had wanted to comfort that person, whoever it was, for he – Obi-Wan was sure it had been a "he" – had seemed troubled as well.

"Poor kid is worried about you, like us all. He only left when I assured him I'd stay with you. We weren't sure when you would wake up; you barely cracked your eyes open when he was here. You'll be allowed visitors later, if you're up to it."

Bant's voice faded away even as his eyes drifted shut again, not quite awake and not quite asleep, but in a pleasant state of drowsiness that was as welcome and comfortable as falling into harmony with the Force. Eventually, he felt the pull of consciousness, and he drifted closer to awareness for the second time.

"Waking, he is," someone said, sounding pleased. 'Obi-Wan, hear me do you?"

"When he can keep his eyes open and respond to us, we will give him a mild dose of anti-anxiety meds for the tank," a second voice responded. "We want to keep him relaxed, but aware and awake – it's easier on the patients if they're just a bit out of it, still."

_No pain…warm…_his eyes drifted open, shut and then opened again.

"Surgery's over and you're doing just fine, Obi-Wan," a blurry figure leaned into his line of sight. "You did really well, you're out of recovery and you'll be going into the tank soon."

He must have made some kind of facial gesture, for the healer – he was awake enough to know that now - lightly chuckled and patted his arm and said lightly that no patient liked it, and advised that since he was finally waking up they would shortly be giving him a relaxant to keep him in the proper state of mind and not to fight it.

He couldn't help it; he twisted and shook at the thought. Drugs…poison…. "No…no," but the protest stuck in his throat. His agitation grew more pronounced; he remembered all too well what happened next.

_Hot pain coursing through his veins…writhing to escape but it was inside him…no_, _no_, _no_. His eyes wide and staring, remembering, shrinking back despite himself…_pain so excruciating that he thought death would be a relief. Times his limbs shook and trembled, his muscles cramped and the spasms sent jolting arcs of fire up his nerves so that he half expected to see smoke leaking from the pores of his skin..._

"Hurts," he whispered, speaking to himself, trying not to tremble, feeling the healer grabbing his trembling hands in a gentle yet firm grip to reassure him, recognizing his distress, softly repeating his name and title as he tried to fight off the sudden panic.

"Master Kenobi? Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, it's okay. Wake up, breathe it out." This was followed by a request to the other person in the room. "You can see he's fighting something. He's a little too groggy, still; let's see if we can wake him up a bit more and get him calmed down."

Another voice chimed in, one he instinctively obeyed. "Obi-Wan, wake now."

He stared up at Neille bending over him, finally shocked back to full awareness that he was back in the Jedi Temple, back among friends, and back among people who didn't want to hurt him, but help him.

"Rest easy, young one," the second voice spoke, ancient and gravelly. Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to see Yoda nodding at him as the small Jedi hobbled over to stand at his bedside. "In pain are you? Help you, the healers will. Help you need, yes?"

"Tired…rest - all I need." Obi-Wan wasn't sure if the soft croak even carried to the other two Jedi, but his momentary panic had embarrassed him.

The healer only snorted; apparently he didn't agree.

"There was a bit of internal damage the surgeon had to clean up, we had to clean out a few half-healed wounds before they got infected and we had to reset two fingers that didn't heal properly. After the bacta treatment you are going to need a mind-healer to help you deal with those emotions you're not ready to confront."

The ones that troubled his sleep? He had no need to confront them; they confronted him on some whim of their own. Before he could form a protest, Yoda was fixing him with a firm stare and ears turned back.

"Anger, fear, guilt you have felt, Obi-Wan, deny it not. Expected that is. Less of a Jedi you think it makes you, perhaps yes, but no, say I. Deny them now you do, but face them you will have to when ready you are. Help you I will if accept my help you will." The glare suddenly softened into a look rarely seen except when Yoda was dealing with the youngest of the younglings.

"Do not deny yourself the help and comfort of others. Alone, you do not have to face the past. Help you we all will. Let now Healer Neille help you."

"You need the bacta treatment, and this will help you relax," the healer said as Obi-Wan nodded slightly at Yoda's words in acceptance of them.

"Don't know why you wake me up…to put me to sleep," he slurred, drawing a deep breath and extending his arm. Despite himself, he trembled. A touch on his forehead quieted him; Neille calmed him with the Force, too; it had been a long time since he had needed someone to assist him in finding his center.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan," the healer soothed, ignoring the slight sense of embarrassment radiating in the Force. "You can't come back from that unscathed. Not even you."

"I know," he sighed in unwilling agreement, but a part of him said he should be stronger than this. It was over and behind him. Were Qui-Gon here, he would be telling him once again that it was time to live in the present and leave the past behind. His master would be disappointed in his padawan's inability to live up to his teachings, so disappointed.

His eyes drifted shut again as a tear slid down one cheek…

_Oh, my Obi-Wan, I am only disappointed that I somehow left you with the wrong impression. You do not disappoint me, padawan mine, never._ A Force ghost wished he had a finger to brush the tear away.

… from a long ways away, he heard Yoda speaking again.

"Asleep again, he almost is, not yet ready he is, agree do you? Wake a bit more, relax, too, he might if his padawan or a friend allowed a short visit with him," Yoda suggested, a clawed hand ever so gently brushing against his cheek, wiping the tear away. "Time you must give yourself, young one…hurt badly you have been. Heal you must; here to help you we are."

Neille studied the Jedi and nodded after a moment's consideration, touching his patient's shoulder until Obi-Wan blinked and gave a nod of consent.

Obi-Wan vaguely heard footsteps cross the room, caught the sound of the door opening and the soft murmur of voices. He only caught part of it.

"…bit of …rough…time. He's okay… not quite awake yet…presence relaxing…keep him occupied - won't even notice…."

A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he sensed who the visitor was; his desire to greet her fighting his body's desire to sleep.

With great effort, Obi-Wan turned his head as soft footsteps came towards him. He blinked again, and a hand slid towards the edge of the bed, towards Siri, but it seemed so heavy that all he seemed capable of was lifting his fingers a few inches as he tried to stretch the hand to her. It dropped, instead, to his side.

"Hey," he mumbled, using what strength he could muster in an attempt to smile more than to speak.

"Hey, you – you did just fine, I hear," she whispered, sitting down and taking his limp hand in hers and raising it to her cheek. "Were you looking for Anakin? He's been back and forth; he'll be back to see you shortly."

"Rest – he needs to rest, too. " Faces swam in and out of focus. His eyes opened and shut intermittently as he tried to fight through the fogginess clouding his mind. "I'm… really here, aren't I? Not dreaming?"

"No, Obi-Wan, you're not dreaming."

"Good…." Blinking sleepily, he slowly freed a finger to brush Siri's cheek. "It's really – you – then? No dream? Anakin told me – see if – you…"

"Really? Your padawan told me it was _my_ turn to kiss _you_. Then he laughed."

"Oh?" His eyes widened a bit, almost as if this wasn't a dream, a refuge from reality.

"Yeah. Imagine the nerve of him."

"Yeah. Are you going to?"

Siri leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to his forehead and this time Obi-Wan managed a faint smile. On Obi-Wan's other side, Yoda only "harrumphed," and hid a smile.

"In old youngling tales, the knight it is who wakes the sleeping princess with a kiss," he observed calmly. "Awake you are now, Obi-Wan?"

"Awake? Uh, yes…I had this really nice dream before you woke me," he murmured, only half-hearing the small master. "Dreams, only get kissed in dreams – oh, er, I'm sorry."

He blinked at Yoda, somewhat embarrassed, but a sideways look showed him Siri was really sitting there at his other side and both were smiling. Perhaps it wasn't a dream.

"An interesting way of waking a patient," Neille remarked cheerily. "How awake are you now, Obi-Wan?"

"Not very?" he said hopefully.

"Tough luck, Kenobi, you were lucky to get even that one," Siri said primly, but a smile danced in her eyes as she continued to hold onto his hand, one thumb lightly caressing the palm of his.

"Maybe I should start believing in luck," he murmured, for the moment oblivious to the others in the room as he gazed at her, relishing the soft touch that was so in contrast to all that he had endured in the long weeks of captivity. The next minute his eyes widened in self-realization and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Regardless of his amusement, Neille remarked gravely, "We'll blame it on the drugs in your system." His patient nodded sheepishly, averting his eyes from the injection the healer no longer kept away from his sight. "Awake now?"

"I'm awake enough to know what comes next," he grumbled, tightening his grip on Siri's hand and only jerking a little when the pinprick came in his other arm. Siri squeezed back and laid his hand back at his side with a last pat, letting her fingers linger lightly on it as if loathe to let it go.

Appearing to ignore the byplay, Yoda leaned forward and caught Obi-Wan's eyes from the other side of his bed.

"Not alone are you, Obi-Wan, remember that. Your friends we are; help you we will when the healers are through with you. Stronger you must be before ready to deal with all that you have endured. Not easy it will be."

_Stronger? Deal with what _– he had already released almost everything, hadn't he? He'd be fine after some sleep. He licked dry lips and tried to speak crisply, as a Jedi would.

"Release into the Force, isn't that the proper procedure? Shouldn't be too hard for one acknowledged as a Jedi master."

Without warning Yoda's hand reached suddenly towards Obi-Wan and the Jedi flinched.

"See why hard it will be?" Obi-Wan relaxed, though his eyes were still wide with shock. Siri and Neille watched, both wanting to protest, but both understanding that Yoda was proving a necessary point. The heart monitor was only now slowly assuming its prior rhythm.

With a sideways look at Yoda that plainly asked: _was this the time for that?_ Siri released a breath and said gently, "Obi-Wan, your own master told you that something like what you faced is not released and forgotten just one time. It's like an echo; it ripples in the Force and returns. You will have to release it when it returns, more than once, I'm afraid."

"I know," the Jedi murmured. It was one of the lessons that Qui-Gon had tried to impress on him from the beginning. It was a lesson he was constantly relearning. 'I just wish that it was over, it was truly over. I just want to put it behind me and move on as a Jedi would."

Forget the pain, forget the weakness. Forget the darkness clawing at his soul – but he knew he couldn't forget. Deep down, he knew he must find the strength to confront it in order to move on.

Just not yet.

"I wish I were stronger," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'll try…."

"Heal more than just your body you must." As Yoda spoke, the little Jedi moved his hand up and touched Obi-Wan's forehead. "Here, too, you are wounded, deny it you should not, in the Force, muted and chaotic you are. Heal you will, but time it will take."

Obi-Wan couldn't deny it. He tried to lift a hand to his head to massage his temple, but gave it up as too much effort. He was just too tired…he wasn't sure he had ever felt this tired in his life.

'Time, yes, just need…time," he whispered. "I just need to release it into the Force."

"Not so easy, release will be," Yoda warned. "Miracles, even for you, the Force does not do. Work hard you must, face it and accept it you must, before release it you can."

He had tried to put it behind him; but Yoda was right. No matter how much he desired to put all this behind him, Obi-Wan knew he would need time to fully assimilate and come to terms with his experiences before final release into the Force and peace in his soul. He had concentrated mainly on releasing everything, and in so doing, had only denied them. Full and final release actually required that he _face_ and then _accept_ his emotions and memories before releasing them.

However, his experiences were too harsh and too recent to be easily faced, no matter how hard he tried.

"Do or do not…."

"Sleepy Jedi," Siri laughed softly, eyes sparkling with humor. "Yawn in a lady's face, will you?"

"Time to leave now, he's ready for the tank," Neille said, watching the monitor readouts. "Awake and alert enough. The anti-anxiety med has his brain waves just about perfect."

"Hey, Kenobi, we'll see you later," Siri said encouragingly. With one last squeeze of his hand, she followed Yoda as Neille called in his padawan to help him prepare their patient for immersion in the tank.

"Just lie still and let us get you ready," Neille cautioned. "We've got leads and tubes to keep track of, okay?"

Obi-Wan started shivering as soon as they folded back the covers. "I'm cold," he whispered. Even in the dark and dank cell that had been his home for several months, he didn't remember feeling this cold except when Ventress – he pushed _that_ memory aside.

"You're cold because you have very little body fat left on you," Neille advised, stopping a moment to reassure his patient. "Can't be helped, though, we need to suit you up."

Such a reaction had been expected, though the air temperature ordinarily should not have made Obi-Wan feel chilled. Before they could warm him, they had to first wrap him in the bacta-suit, a get up that reminded each Jedi of early days in the crèche. Unlike with the crechlings this was not meant for absorbency but modesty. The material was porous and opaque; it allowed bacta through but provided some shielding and fastened with tabs at the side of the waist for easy placement and removal.

Once Obi-Wan was properly clothed for the tank, the healer helped him sit up and advised, "We're going to walk you to the tank as we want to strengthen your muscles as much as possible. It's just across the hallway, but it's going to be painful. Think you can do that?"

"I fought Ventress and I fought bounty hunters – I can walk across the hall," Obi-Wan said with quiet dignity.

"And you just came out of surgery a few hours ago," Neille reminded him. He wrapped a blanket around Obi-Wan's shoulders and helped him to swing his legs to first sit on the edge of the bed and then to stand upright. "You're going to be a bit unsteady. Ready?"

He held onto the Jedi's arm as they slowly made their way across the hallway.

The bright light made Obi-Wan's eyes water and he slowed a little to avoid stumbling, blinking the tears away; an arm tightened around his shoulder and supported the Jedi's weight the rest of the way.

"Is it the light, or pain?" Neille asked quietly, producing a soft cloth and wiping the tears off his cheeks, getting first a nod and then a shake of Obi-Wan's head. "Good, but we're balancing several meds right now so you let us know when the pain kicks in, okay?"

"Don't worry – I've had enough pain for a while," Obi-Wan said wryly, making a face.

"We'll do our best to minimize it," the healer assured him, quietly appreciative of the Jedi's ability to find the humor in most every situation.

After the bright light of the hall, the room's lighting seemed rather subdued and the air seemed to have a faint reddish tinge to it. Seats for several visitors were just inside the door and in the middle of the room was a console for a technician to monitor readouts from all tanks simultaneously. At the moment all were empty. Alpha had recently been released from one and was off to the side currently being washed clean of the bacta, his nose twitching at the bittersweet yet cloying smell of the bacta that permeated the room.

"Alpha – you're looking better," Obi-Wan remarked, once he saw Alpha. He sniffed and smiled. "Smell better, too."

"Even bacta beats blood, sweat and tears," Alpha agreed, remembering how odoriferous their clothing had smelled after living in them for some time. "You know, general – hard to tell if Ventress or the surgeons did the most carving on you." He looked at the various bandages and splints adorning the Jedi's body.

"It is hard to tell, isn't it?" Obi-Wan patted Alpha on the shoulder as he passed by; leaning heavily on Neille by the time they reached the waiting technician. Neille supported the Jedi as the technician fit a breathing mask and some additional monitor leads to Obi-Wan.

One of the things they wanted to track was his brain waves, for they wanted to keep him in a pleasantly aware but relaxed mental state during his immersion, aiming for an Alpha brain wave state similar to that found in certain stages of sleep or meditation.

With a slight nod to indicate the preparations were complete, the fourth person in the room came over with a ready smile. "Master Kenobi, I'm Mind Healer Cailya E'Shon and I am going to monitor you while you're in the tank. I'll be here to help you if you find it disturbing."

"Thank you, Healer." He then turned to Neille and tried to look disapproving; failing miserably.

"I knew better than to fall for that – Council member purple," Obi-Wan almost sounded triumphant. He shook his head; a grin spreading across his face. "Tried to fool me…you almost had me believing."

When the mind healer merely looked puzzled, Obi-Wan tapped his wristband. "Purple. Mace Windu – the man has a fixation on purple. Ah, well, Neille will explain, I'm sure."

Cailya looked slightly less mystified, but put it aside with a sideways look that meant she'd get the story from Neille later.

"Feeling any anxiety or concern, Master Kenobi? No? Good, that's the state we want you in. Just relax and let everything go."

Every Jedi from knight to master knew how to _let go_. Obi-Wan relaxed so utterly that he swayed on his feet, a by-now sloppy grin on his face from the effects of the meds.

"I know you're tired," Neille said sympathetically, steadying him. "You can have a nice long rest without interruptions afterwards, but try not to actually sleep while in the tank."

"You said 'try'" Obi-Wan accused happily. "Do or do not, you know what Master Yoda says. If you don't," he looked at his ankle and shook his head sadly.

"Do stay awake, Obi-Wan," Neille agreed easily, not at all perturbed. "You need to be awake or on a respirator while in there."

Obi-Wan just nodded; his face peaceful and quiet and his mind starting to drift as an unanchored balloon in a breeze.

The mind healer lightly touched a hand to the Jedi's forehead, both watching his reaction and extending her Force senses to brush against his Force presence. "Perfect, he's lightly sedated, just where he needs to be," Cailya confirmed to her fellow healer. "Still responsive yet calm, though he's hard to get a read on with his Force presence so muted. Proceed."

They used a repulsor lift to bring Obi-Wan to the top of the tank where the two healers fastened him to a harness and double-checked the oxygen flow to the mask and leads. Satisfied, they touched a switch and he was slowly lowered into the red gel.

Cailya stood nearby, Force senses extended and on alert, focused entirely on Obi-Wan and the various monitors between the tank and her position. It was not common practice after a Jedi's first experience in the tank for a mind healer to remain in attendance, for after the first time the patient's reaction or lack of was predictable.

Because Obi-Wan's injuries were a result of captivity, all too indicative of mental as well as physical duress, it was quite possible the Jedi would react in an entirely unexpected manner, and extra precautions were taken.

There was no reaction as he sank into the bacta, not even a widening of the eyes when the red gel rose to the level of the goggles protecting his eyes. Many humanoids didn't show a reaction until that point; then, it was not uncommon for the heart rate and brain waves to spike.

So far, so good. The healers let out a small sigh of relief and exchanged brief grins. The first hurdle was passed successfully.

Obi-Wan's hands floated in the gel-like liquid and his hair was plastered to his head, the ends drifting in sinuous strands through the currents. He turned his hands palm up and seemed to watch them curiously, moving the softly splintered fingers and letting his hands dance through the thick fluid.

"You okay, Obi-Wan?" Neille asked after he had sunk fully into the fluid. He nodded languidly, half-hearing and half-comprehending under the relaxant.

"He's doing fine, Neille," Cailya said to her fellow healer, watching carefully. "He's aware of the consistency and testing it as you can see, but there's no adverse reaction. Barely a blip on the monitor and I sense no distress, though he's a hard read in the Force as you probably sense yourself."

_Bacta_, a part of Obi-Wan's mind sighed in recognition, while another part likened the gel-like fluid to a sweet rabbleberry sauce, sending his mind skittering off on a related tangent. How strange, to be actually inside a ripe, juicy sauce; how had that come to be?

_Oh_, _I'm in a sweet_, that part of his mind thought, coming up with a likely explanation. _Surrounded by sweet gooeyness. How nice_. He smiled, imagining the tart goodness touched with the freshness of a summer day slipping down his throat – how good it would taste. Then it would hit his stomach and – oh.

Oh.

If he was _in_ the tart, someone might accidentally eat him. How silly that would be. They would see him and put him down, certainly, for no one would take an actual bite out of him.

Just to be on the safe side, he looked up. He saw teeth, bared in a feral grin, coming for him – _no, no_ – and he felt the teeth biting into his skin as his blood started to seep, slowly at first, then faster and faster -.

As he started to twitch and shake, the mind healer was already reacting, even before the heart, brainwave and respiration monitors showed the increased activity.

"Obi-Wan, listen to me. It's Healer Cailya. Focus on my voice. It's not real. Whatever you think you see or feel it's not real." She sent waves of calming Force into the Jedi until the spiking heart rate slowed to something closer to normal and the brain waves resumed the pattern she was looking for. She looked at the other healer and shook her head.

"I have a feeling this is not going to go well, Neille. I think this will be far rougher on him than we anticipated. If we sedated him a bit more he might relax; then again, it might make it harder to reach him to pull out of these flashbacks or whatever he is seeing. Nor am I in favor of anesthetizing him and putting him on a respirator. He will probably have a few more episodes. I'm not leaving until he's out of the tank. Has he been able to talk yet about what happened – failing that, can you extrapolate from his wounds?"

Neille had a pretty good idea, but the Jedi had not yet spoken much of his ordeal. There had been no need. Most of it was clear from the damage done to him, and the healers had wanted to give him some time to regain his strength, to speak when he was ready.

"You know as much as I, Cailya; you've seen his chart. It speaks for itself. We know there's no lasting physical damage. Anything broken has or is healing fine, we flushed out the rest of the toxins that lingered, repaired the internal wounds – the bacta will take care of any possible infections and help regenerate tissue. Beyond that – no, nor do we have a full explanation of his diminished Force awareness – it's more than pure Force exhaustion, we think. We're not sure what's up with his midis; there's no precedent for that. Not all test results are back yet."

Wounds of the body, the healer could heal. They were easily seen, sometimes easily repaired. As for the rest….it would be in Healer Cailya's hands now.

Master Kenobi was going to need more in the way of healing than what he or his colleagues could offer. Under their care, he would be whole shortly, needing to regenerate lost blood, to regain some lost weight. But the experiences that caused those injuries – those wounds had to be to the mind. Healing the mind was far trickier, and one Neille was happy to leave to the mind healers.

"Too bad. If I knew, I might anticipate his reactions. I'll just have to react to them. It's going to be a long session for the both of us, then." The mind healer dropped into a seat and settled in for the long haul. Neille remained standing, arms crossed. When it became clear that for the moment things were going smoothly, he sighed.

"I've other patients to see to. The monitors will alert us if we're needed. Let me know if you need anything, otherwise, I'll leave my patient to you." For just a minute he dropped his healer's calm dispassion. "War wounds are bad enough – but this – this deliberate infliction of damage to another sentient being – I find it hard to accept – and for what reason, I ask you?

Red liquid: oh, pretty blood

, a part of his mind babbled. _Red mist_: keeping him from Qui-Gon, something else whispered. _Red Bacta: healing gel_, the healer counteracted, but Obi-Wan still twitched a little. _Red blade_, stealing his master away…so much loss, so much pain, and the _red_ never disappeared – it surrounded him, he was drowning in it, dying in it….

Anakin had never made it to the Healers Ward so fast. _We need your assistance; your master is struggling in the bacta and we think you might reach him through your bond_.

He burst into the room, panting. Obi-Wan was indeed fighting something, his hands clenching and unclenching as his eyes stared wildly. He should be calm but his mind was chaotic with blurry images, seemingly centered on the color red.

"Calm down, Master. Do you know where you are? You're being healed; you're in the bacta tank." Anakin stood next to the tank wall, hands pressed against the container as he reached out towards his master, trying to make eye contact as well as reach him through the bond. Obi-Wan was all but oblivious to the mind healer's Force projections, leaving the padawan uncertain if even he would be able to get through to his master.

He had to try; what use was all his power if it could never be used to help others. He willed his master to hear him, to listen to him, gathering the Force to connect him to his master by bathing the bond with the Force.

A tight smile came to Anakin's lips as Obi-Wan slowly reached to meet him, palm to palm and the panic carried by the now partially open bond started to dissipate, becoming somewhat coherent fragments of thoughts as opposed to mere chaotic emotion.

_He's going to die, Anakin – I'm trapped_, came a panicked thought.

"Who's going to die?" The mind healer looked up sharply at that.

_My master. I can't get to him. You should have waited for me, Master…you should have… no...oo…ooo!_

Afraid the mental shout would be followed by a physical one that would have Obi-Wan swallowing and choking on bacta, Anakin sent an intense wave of calm through the bond, a gentle caress against his mind, a soothing wave of reassurance.

_So little blood…but I see it…the red blade …impaling him…don't die – don't die – tell me you're proud of me – that I mattered to you…tell me why I was not ready until you needed me to be… why master – when did I fail you? I…I love you, master. I'm sorry…I failed you._

_Master! Focus on me, not the past. _

Obi-Wan's anguish was as deep as if that scene was just now being played out in front of him. _He's dead…Anakin, he died in my arms._ _I failed him, Anakin. I failed you_.

_You didn't fail, Master. _

_I did. He should have been your master. Only - I lived and he died. I'd – I'd've died for him, you know. I should have been the one who died. You wanted him but you got me._

Had his master lived with that guilt all these years? Guilt for having lived and guilt for becoming Anakin's master? Even now, when it had been he that Anakin had gone to with his sorrows and joys in the years before the teenager had learned to conceal them inside? Even now, when he had to know how desperately his padawan had sought to find a way to save his master? Even now, when his padawan's heart was breaking with each word of his master's?

_Master, I need you, only you! Even when I thought you were jealous, holding me back–.  
_

_H...holding back? Did…you think – never jealous, never…proud of you – proud…._

Somehow, Anakin was able to divert that line of thought, but the diversion only led back to other aching memories, each faced and each released, yet each etching another scar into a heart unable to purge itself of every wound. Every bleeding wound of his heart or body followed in succession, Geonosis, battle after battle, as Anakin battled the memories.

_Crouching by a fallen comrade on Geonosis, feeling for a pulse that was not there to be found with red staining the dusty arena floor…grief, sorrow and pained relief that it wasn't his padawan, followed by guilt at the thought…then icy determination to fight to the end and resigned acceptance that doing so would not be enough to save any of them._

_Blood, pooling beneath his toes, droplets dripping, sliding, falling down his skin… matched by that on Alpha - blood on another while all he could do was watch…_

_A red haze in his vision…as a throat too raw to scream croaked in outrage, in protest at more red – red not of him, but of another drowning in it nearby…flames of anger that fought against hot tears…_

Anakin had been at Obi-Wan's side without realizing how deep the wounds had gone into his master: some memories were new to him, but each memory of a death or bad situation touched with the color red surfaced, interweaving in a mad kaleidoscope of images related by pain and sorrow. Anakin hastily wove shields to protect the Jedi from things he was able to anticipate and seal off certain sections of his mind temporarily, until he felt Obi-Wan begin to relax.

_No, Master, just relax, don't fight it_, Anakin urged through the bond. _Close your eyes, Master…look for the Force, look for the light of the Force. Wrap yourself in it, okay?_

"Please, Master," he murmured aloud, resting his head against the tank's wall only inches away from his master, trying to wrap the raw mind with peaceful waves of Force. "Feel the Force, okay?"

He could almost feel Obi-Wan stop fighting and gingerly reach out, his touch uncertain in a way that was foreign to the padawan's experience. His master never had trouble connecting to the Force, but this time it was the Force, directed by Anakin, that touched him.

_Oh. Pretty light. Warm. Likes me?_

Anakin smiled_. Yes, the light likes you. That's the Force._

_Force? Yes…good. _

_It is good._

There was a moment's pause, then a sense of happy confusion and struggle for understanding, a note of puzzlement and sadness.

_It came back. It left me, Anakin…it went away for a time. I wasn't worthy, so it left me, alone and – and in the dark._

_No, Master, it never left you. You lost it due to no fault of your own. _

_Not…my fault?_

_No, Master. The Force will never willingly leave you; it dances in your presence, don't you feel it? It likes you. _

_Like you?_

_Yeah, like me. Just relax, Master. You'll feel a lot better shortly._

_Okay, sure, Ani. _

Anakin's lips twitched. Obi-Wan was relaxed now, the meds doing their usual job of making Obi-Wan a bit, well, drunk-like. Some folks were allergic to bacta or drugs: Obi-Wan tended to get high on them.

_Just relax and stay calm, Master. I'll be nearby if you need me; I won't leave you._

Anakin leaned his head against the tank wall, close to his master, only now brushing the tell tale track of tears from his cheeks. He had _heard_ and _seen_ far more than he wished to know and probably far less than what he should know, though the Force had seen fit to keep some sections of his master's mind private.

"He's going to be okay," Anakin said, stepping back and looking at the mind healer. "I think the red of the bacta set off a chain of bad associations, but now that I've convinced him he's seeing another color instead he's having his normal reaction to the bacta now, and will probably be a bit silly when you get him out of there."

Healer Cailya shook her head, remembering the story of the last time Master Kenobi came out of the bacta; it had amused the healers for a long while though they were careful to keep the story within the confines of the Healers Ward. She let her smile fade away as she faced Anakin.

"Thank you, Padawan, however it was that you managed to reach him, it worked. I was about to pull him from the tank. What can you tell me about what was going through his mind – it'll help us to help him recover from the trauma."

"You're the mind healer, you should know." Anakin snapped at her. As much as he wanted his master to share his ordeal with him, to know that Obi-Wan trusted him enough to share everything – he had learned enough to know he really didn't want to know all the details. Not yet, perhaps never.

Why hadn't the mind healer been able to reach Obi-Wan, to keep the padawan from being privy to many private emotions and memories? They were only fragments; disjointed and no doubt heightened by his ordeal since the emotions – the thoughts – were not those of the man he knew.

Anakin took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

It was a thought beneath him, unworthy. He should focus on the thought that it had been _he_ – Obi-Wan's padawan – only _he_ that could reach his master and that was perhaps something to relish, not rail against.

"You know the Force does not run smoothly through him right now, Padawan," she said gently. "Even you had trouble reaching him. Until he regains his full access to the Force it will be somewhat difficult for us to reach him via normal means. It is your connection that allowed you to succeed where I could not."

Yes, once again he had done what could not be done by others. The Force obeyed him as no other, and Obi-Wan trusted him enough to let his padawan reach him when others could not. Anakin's shoulders straightened involuntarily under the praise.

The only thing that was important at the moment was helping Obi-Wan to recover. The only thing.

And because of that, if it would help Obi-Wan heal, Anakin had no compunction about revealing everything that ran through his master's mind. However, he restricted himself to only those things relating to his captivity, knowing that there were far more horrors he had not even seen.

Guilt …regrets and sorrows… the abiding sorrow for all the death he had seen and caused…shame… emotions all far too personal for even his padawan's perusal, and not to be casually spoken of to others, even mind healers.

Anger. Hate. Shame for his anger and hatred. Anakin had woven hasty shields to block the memories before they became his, glimpsing only fragments, seeing far more of his master's captivity than he wished to know – and knowing what he did see was far less than what Obi-Wan had endured.

He had also found a strong thread of - could it be - love? – for the Force, for his padawan, for his friends. That strong thread of caring and compassion had surprised Anakin with its intensity. It shone, beneath the other emotions: pure, strong and fundamental.

Anakin hoped Obi-Wan would forgive him this trespass into his mind, should he ever become aware of the deep intrusion into a self he kept so private.

"He'll probably remember none of those images, but we – I – do need to know. Tell me what you can – it will help us to help him to get well."

Anakin wished he could forget; he nodded jerkily, and raised his eyes to hers – and he told her.

The mind healer paled.


	41. Repercussions & Realizations

Obi-Wan Kenobi slept.

The man who was at the center of all the varying swirls of emotion and in the thoughts of many others was the only one unaware, and thus untouched by, the repercussions of his captivity.

The Jedi healers pondered the fragility of life and wondered what could possibly motivate those who sought to damage or destroy others.

His padawan, friends and colleagues worried about the man who had been badly damaged in ways only now becoming apparent.

His one time captor, she who had inflicted the damage upon him, raged at being cheated of her prize, for the man who should have long ago broken before her and been the means of proving her worth had instead stolen away her peace of mind as he had stolen away from her grasp. He had reached, for one tiny moment, the girl that had died so long ago, kindled memories of being cherished and found worthy, and that tiny spark left of who she had once been wept at what had been lost.

Those who had aided and abetted Kenobi and Alpha in their escape – unwittingly or not – were long past caring. They were dead, victims of either the violence accompanying the men's escape or of Ventress's wrath bestowed by the hand of her trusted aide, Aidus.

Count Dooku was furious at what little he had learned, and was determined to know all, before Lord Sidious demanded the same of him.

Miniscule events on a cosmic scale, each and every one of them. Elsewhere, on numerous battlefields, beings still died and still killed, as droids destroyed and were destroyed, yet from these miniscule events, the future of the galaxy was being shaped with each decision made or avoided.

The Force had helped shape the players, but the players shaped their own courses, paths intersecting, deflecting and colliding with the choices of others.

* * *

Order had finally been restored in Asajj Ventress's citadel on Rattatak by the expedient method of executing any former prisoners or jailors within reach. Ventress had left the task of restoring order to Aidus, however he saw fit, as her mind was consumed with one thing – the final destruction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the logical assumption of her rightful place as apprentice to her self-chosen mentor, Count Dooku.

Only Obi-Wan stood in her way, the barrier to her goal, the obstacle to success.

Because of him, Asajj Ventress was not a happy woman. Obi-Wan Kenobi had escaped her clutches. He had left broken dreams behind him – dreams of proving her worth and dedication to the man she had chosen to align herself with. He had taken hope and he had taken memories, and left her to face the wrath of her mentor.

Only Kenobi's death would rectify her failure.

Thoughts of vengeance and hatred crawled through her. She had meant to grind Kenobi into the rotting depth of his soul, a once-powerful Jedi reduced to a pitiable, cowering man and presented as a sign of her devotion to Count Dooku, proof of her worthiness, truly a powerful offering.

She had failed in that task.

She would not the next time they met.

She had underestimated the pure stubbornness of the Jedi's spirit, for it was not his power with the Force that had saved him. It was not his Force that held his tongue as her vibroblades had carved her hatred, but her Force that had torn screams from his throat. It was not his grasp of the light that had forced tears from his eyes at watching the suffering of another, but her grasp of the dark that had his limbs tensing to free themselves to tear her limb from limb.

She had nearly extinguished the Jedi known as Obi-Wan Kenobi; had come so close to creating the pitiful caricature of a man that she knew him to be in the eyes of others who had not known – and now rather than praise and rewards, the man she had hoped to impress stood regarding her with a look far from the approval she desired.

Behind the calm expression lurked contempt and displeasure, somehow more visible in his towering hologram than it ever could be in person. Everything about Dooku was suave and controlled, based on a casual appraisal, unless one saw the quirk of an eyebrow, the twist of a lip or the flash in an eye. Looks could be deceiving, if one did not know the signs, and Ventress did. His scorn, his quiet anger, was all directed at _her_ – his most devoted servant.

Oh, Kenobi would pay dearly for this.

"My Lord Tyrannus," Ventress acknowledged, bowing low in obeisance, in respect, in devotion to a man who had not still accepted the gift of her service. No, he sought to ally that inferior and most unwilling Jedi to his side, as if service won was worth far more than service freely offered.

She should not have to grovel before the man and prove her worth. Her worth should be self-evident; it resided in her, not his eyes. _Had not Kenobi, as well, had to prove his worth to become his master's apprentice? _

That unbidden thought curled her lips in a snarl – she was nothing like Kenobi. They had nothing in common – nothing, for she was destined to do great things. Kenobi was destined to watch great things be done, to stand behind or next to those with destiny: a teacher to be surpassed if he wasn't already by his apprentice, an obstacle and a test to propel Ventress to recognition as a Sith herself. He had no worth in himself.

Yet her mentor, after months of ignoring her, was demanding answers. Count Dooku stood with a lip curled in derision as he faced her, his devoted acolyte, his devoted servant, demanding – _demanding _– information on Kenobi.

"Word has reached me, my pet, that you had Obi-Wan Kenobi in your custody." He raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms. "His death was widely reported; his funeral long past. That was some time ago," he dropped his voice even lower and leaned forward, "yet you never informed me. Did I fail to make my expectations clear?"

"Your wishes for Obi-Wan were clear, my master," Ventress hissed softly, never once thinking to deny his accusation.

"Yet you disobeyed me. You are a woman of passion and your passions verge on obsession at times – have they led you to some 'fascination' with Obi-Wan that you chose to indulge?"

"Do not insult me! I would take no pleasure in 'indulging in such things' with any man," Ventress snapped sharply. It was a ridiculous idea; she had no interest in men – any man – other than as objects to bend to her will. She had noticed his eyes, of course, how could one not notice such changeable eyes, such lovely eyes to be wasted on such as he…and of course she couldn't help but notice how fit his body had been, quite unexpectedly so, but she had taken no pleasure in noticing such things.

No indeed, for she had mocked him.

Kenobi's response to her jibe had been unexpected, for while she had no experience with such things, she'd always heard that belittling a man was humiliating. She had wanted to humiliate Kenobi, even more than any other man, but the man had refused to be baited.

"I will admit that I took much pleasure in what I did do to him," Ventress suddenly smirked, ridding herself of one unexpectedly _pleasing_ mental picture by replacing it with another, of a battered and bleeding Obi-Wan, the slow tears trickling down his face as he was forced to watch Alpha's torture.

But Dooku's accusation and the memory of Obi-Wan's tears unearthed a long forgotten memory:

_A woman lying on the ground – even in death, her tears were visible. Clothes torn asunder, ravaged before her mate's eyes and those of her daughter. The jerk of her mother's body as the blaster bolt ended her life, of denying the finality of the now empty stare and then of hearing a second shot. That shot had killed her father, he who had been forced to witness his mate's assault and murder before his own murder; that sight, his last._

_Grief and rage turned to fear…pinned…hands touching her…screaming – and then a gentle hand on her shoulder, a low voice telling her it was okay, she was okay, he would take care of her…and __Ky Narec__ had, until his own life had been violently torn away._

With an internal snarl worthy of any Sith, Ventress shut away the memories, any tears evoked by the memories now tears of pure rage. Her tears had always been of rage, ever since that day.

Dooku's eyes held no pity as he studied her.

"You were torturing him!" The cold fury brought Ventress to her knees, head bowed before the hologram image of Count Dooku. His voice cracked across the distance, hindered not at all by static. "_You_ had Obi-Wan in your clutches and you did not inform me. My orders were clear. If captured, Obi-Wan was to be brought to me. You have not provided me with a satisfactory explanation of why you disobeyed me."

Asajj's lips thinned. The truth would not be satisfactory, but the truth could be shaded, a little.

"I sought to prove his true nature, so you would see him as he truly was, my master, weak and pitiful and utterly unworthy of being at your side."

"You dared take too much on yourself. You have succeeded in nothing but letting him escape my grasp by escaping yours. I want to know everything of his captivity. Be thorough, Asajj, I shall know if you leave anything out and my displeasure will be proportionate to what you do not reveal."

Under that merciless stare, Ventress fought to keep all expression off her face. She feared nothing – nothing except losing Dooku's regard, and now because of Kenobi, she was doing just that. She had risked it, to break Kenobi, and earn her place as his official apprentice.

"I sought to turn him into your ally as you have wished."

"You tried to break him, not turn him," came the immediate retort. "Had you truly sought to carry out my wishes, you would have brought him to me immediately. You have disappointed me, Asajj. I am displeased. Highly displeased."

Ventress prostrated herself. "I only wish to serve you, Master. Had I succeeded in turning him, you would be pleased with me for what I had accomplished. Had I broken him, you would have been pleased with me. I saw what I did as a way for you to gain a stronger apprentice, whether it be him or me."

"Enough," Dooku snapped. He locked eyes with Ventress, clearly considering what to do or say next, settling on, "Details, please, no more explanations."

Debate, poison, torture…Ventress spoke dispassionately as Dooku's eyes burned into her. She only hesitated when he demanded to know how Kenobi had managed to escape, for she had no good explanation herself. He had not been in a condition to overcome the mask and was so far gone that even its removal could not made a difference. There was no good explanation for the key that was found in the cell, for Kenobi could not have accessed the Force, which was the only logical explanation.

This time it was Dooku's lips that thinned as Ventress finished speaking.

"I find torture – distasteful – yet you have tortured my padawan's padawan. I had wished to pursue other means of turning Obi-Wan; I am not happy with what you have done. He would have been a fine ally. I am rather disappointed, but you have proved to my satisfaction that Obi-Wan cannot be turned."

At last, Dooku was giving up on Kenobi. Trying to stifle her elation, Ventress asked meekly, "How so, my master?"

"He escaped the mask. That strength is only found in those who will die before turning. It is a paradox of that mask that any Jedi strong enough to escape it alive is so entrenched in the light that he will believe he is tarnished by what the mask made him experience and think. Obi-Wan is stronger than I believed, and thus a greater threat to our cause. So be it. If you encounter him again, you are to kill him. Am I clear on this?"

"Yes, my master. Kill Kenobi."

Ventress bowed her head, hiding her smile of satisfaction. She would find Kenobi, and he _would _die this time. Dooku commanded it. Honor demanded it.

Out of nowhere, a stray thought crossed her mind: Obi-Wan would not have been so harsh to her had it been he who she had failed.

It was a most unwelcome thought.

* * *

"Oh, dear Force," a council member murmured. It was unclear just who had uttered those words, for the thought was in all their minds.

The reality of what one of their own endured stained the awareness of the Council members after Arc Trooper Alpha exited the Council chambers. It had not been possible to be unaware of the physical pain both men had endured, but the mental abuse heaped on Master Kenobi stunned them.

Alpha's tale, spare and unadorned, had shocked even these Jedi masters, long used to cruelty and avarice in a galaxy that at times seemed to deny the very peace of the Force.

"No wonder the poor man is having nightmares," Adi said softly.

"A Sith torture mask," Mace repeated. It was the third such utterance, a sign of his otherwise hidden disquiet. His eyes were hooded as he steepled his fingers. "Sith. Torture mask. How in Force did Obi-Wan free himself from one?"

"More to the point, just what is a Sith torture mask?" Plo Koon asked. The expression on each Jedi's face matched his – a desire to not know, not really.

"More to the point, what affect both temporarily and permanently will it have on Obi-Wan?" The speaker paused, gathering its thoughts. "Being Sith in origin, it must be something devastating for a Jedi to experience. I hate to suggest this, but is it possible that Obi-Wan might now be tainted by this mask?"

Not one Jedi protested the comment though each was chilled at the thought. It was a horrible thought, but anything Sith was by definition horrible, and thus possible.

"He himself seemed haunted by the possibility he was tainted," Ki-Adi-Mundi offered the information unwillingly. "He asked if I sensed any lingering darkness in him and I told him I did not, only pain and exhaustion. The Force still wrapped around him, though it did not then run through him."

"Speculate we will not!" Yoda thumped his stick for emphasis. "Allow the mind healers to evaluate Obi-Wan we must. If tainted he is doubt I do that the thought of such would haunt him. Access to the Force he may not have as yet, but the Force has not abandoned him we all know, sporadic it is but with him it still is. Speak of this – concern - to Obi-Wan we will not. Needs to know of this discussion he does not."

* * *

_He's dying…he died in my arms, Anakin, _the memory of tears slipping from his eyes_…oh thank the Force that Anakin is okay, _his hand resting lightly on Anakin's sleeve, so focused on his padawan that he never felt the pain of his own wounds_…so many dead, so much life extinguished…_crouching by a fallen comrade as his eyes roamed the arena floor, trying to deny what he felt in the Force…_._

Anakin could not get the images out of his head. These were his master's memories and emotions, his master who seemed so serene and unflappable. His master's regrets and his master's sorrows. _It is a hard life_: Qui-Gon's words to a young Anakin dreaming of a life away from Tatooine, a life as a Jedi.

A Jedi's life, a life bound to duty, a life of sacrifice and grief, a life of self-denial and a life that was denied rewards and happiness. Yet given a choice, Obi-Wan would choose the same life without hesitation, a life where satisfaction came from helping others, Anakin knew without a shadow of doubt.

He knew just as well that there had been other emotions had he explored them, small treasures of joy and contentment. Happiness. Even delight from time to time.

Cherished memories in his master's mind that he didn't even remember other than a few, yet he had been prominent in many – a hug Anakin had given his master out of the joy of some unremembered moment, the hitch in Obi-Wan's breath and smile of happiness when he had tweaked his padawan's braid and remembered Qui-Gon doing the same with him, or the time his padawan's first Coruscanti thunderstorm had sent him pelting to his master's side and the two had curled up under Obi-Wan's covers with a hot cup of coca and enjoyed the storm – side by side, master and padawan, together.

Oh, Anakin remembered that last memory well: the newfound awareness that he would always be safe there at Obi-Wan's side, even when he was too old to have Obi-Wan's arm around him, even when the threat would be real and not just a random storm.

As Anakin sifted through the memories, releasing and erasing those that were not his to retain, cherishing a few that showed Obi-Wan's perspective of some joint memories, he realized how little he truly knew his master.

The knowledge hurt, he had to admit, for while he held secrets from his master, he had reason to. What reasons would Obi-Wan have to hold secrets from his padawan unless they were secrets that he thought would hurt Anakin? Surely it couldn't be a matter of trust – or could it?

That thought hurt.

Obi-Wan did not share his heart with many, if any at all, but it seemed Qui-Gon, Yoda, Bant and Garen, even Siri, knew much of what Obi-Wan rarely demonstrated openly and spoke of even less. They knew the depths of his affection for his padawan and the depths of his compassion for strangers, even when hidden under wry jokes.

They knew, but Anakin had not. His master had indeed hidden much of his heart from his padawan, or perhaps, the padawan had never noticed.

What else, too, was hidden inside?


	42. Wishes of the Heart

**Quick note: I'm going to be gone, explaining 2 quick posts. **

**Longer note: **

I don't know if it's the norm on this site to respond to comments like on , but if so, I've been rather remiss. All I can say is **thanks** **everyone **for reading and for your comments.

Just so you know what the folks on already know, I've been talked into (wink) a sequel that will go rather AU (this is veering that way). This necessitates some tweaking of this story, but by and large I've decided to let the chips fall where they will as regards the sequel – if Anakin gets a clue, or doesn't, in understanding Obi-Wan, or if Obi-Wan is able to connect to Anakin and keep him from "going Vader" is tied more to this story's original intent than the sequel, for example, because I don't want to put a lot of effort into rewriting a basically written story.

After this and perhaps several more chapters, I understand that some of the chapters following are too slow-paced as well as unnecessary to the story; I leave them in because I'm not about to rewrite what I've posted elsewhere. The suggestion is a hefty dose of caffeine before reading.

* * *

The soft patter of raindrops came through the partially open window, a gentle rhythm affirming the cycle of life. _Ah, raindrops_…and Obi-Wan started to slowly surface from the sedative-induced sleep, a half-smile on his face, listening, merely listening.

Raindrops. Rain was rarely heard on Coruscant, scheduled infrequently and almost always at night. He had missed the soft patter. It had been replaced by a steady drip – drip – drip that only reminded him of the gentleness of this rain from another life, a drip that had only replaced the steady onslaught of continuous and lashing rain from a time between. That time, that place, mixed with fire and flame; _strange_, he thought and the memory floated away before it even fully formed into being.

"He's waking," a hopeful voice whispered, somewhere far away from him, sounds barely recognizable as speech.

"No, not yet, our sleepy Jedi won't fully awake for some time," another voice replied quietly. "Shhh, Obi-Wan, go back to sleep – rest."

A hand brushed across his forehead, and Obi-Wan obeyed the soft Force-assisted push.

He drifted, unanchored in a warm spot of light, sounds muted and far beyond him. The light shaped itself into the memory of his master's face, smiling at him and telling him it was time to return from _here_ to _there_. No, he protested, and though there was no sound, the face from his memory laughed.

_It's time to go back, padawan mine. There are those who wait for you to wake. We will meet someday, if the Force wills it. Follow the sound of the raindrops back – and let them remind you that the fiercer the storm, the brighter the rainbow that follows. Your rainbow will be waiting when you are ready to see it._

The soft pitter-patter slowly protruded into his consciousness a second time. Soft and irregular, a sound of _life_, a sound that was soothing. He so rarely had the chance to just lie in bed, able to enjoy the moment _between_ asleep and awake.

* * *

The brief rain shower had passed; a rainbow shone in a sky washed clean, emerging from the dark clouds, far off. A finger of light slanted across the still sleeping man's chest, and for a fanciful moment the watching figure thought it seemed as if it reached into the heart underneath, bathing the wounded body in warmth.

_He looks so battered, poor man_. Siri stood in the doorway, looking at the man she loved, home and safe. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, for joy and sorrow warred within her.

Fearless warrior, skilled negotiator, gentle man – now someone struggling back to health, hurt not by the vagaries of fate, but coldly, deliberately hurt by another. The gentle humor, the wise eyes, the laughing soul that was the true inner being was not visible under the layers and lines of pain and exhaustion that still characterized him, even asleep.

Up to now, the few times she had ever seen Obi-Wan asleep, he would be loosely curled up on his side, perhaps his stomach, unless he had just sprawled out in some chair.

She remembered how, years ago, Adi and she had exchanged tolerant smiles as Qui-Gon had tucked his cloak around his sleeping padawan, a gentle brush of his hand across his cheek betraying his affection for the worn-out boy. That mission was when she had realized that Melida/Daan was behind the two, and the thorn-in-the-side and almost tolerable - and just, perhaps, almost–friend - Obi-Wan Kenobi was firmly ensconced in his master's affections.

She had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, equally as worn out, with a wish that Adi would brush a similar touch across her brow.

Siri smiled with the memory. So many years ago; now Obi-Wan was the master to a padawan of his own, one far older than he had been at that time. She was sure that were Qui-Gon here now, he'd be sitting at Obi-Wan's side and resting a hand against his cheek as he slept, eyes soft with the release of worry.

At least he seemed to be sleeping peacefully from the looks of it, even if tucked in on his back, even despite the slight shivers that occasionally jostled the covers.

He would be okay, Bant had told her earlier. Despite everything…and Bant's voice had cracked…he would recover just fine. He would be fine…despite everything. Siri knew that Bant was not telling her the whole truth. Whether she knew more than she told, or needed Obi-Wan's permission to reveal more than that, Siri didn't know.

Nightmares, or memories, tended to interrupt his sleep, Bant had told her. Nightmares, or memories, no one knew for sure. Obi-Wan had not spoken of them yet, though his tortured thoughts in the bacta tank as relayed by his padawan were a clear indication. They would give him some time while his body healed and rested.

For now, he was back among friends, away from captivity, and alive.

Safe – but still in some pain and still troubled.

Free – but only in body. The marks of his captivity would take time to heal, both the physical and mental scars.

Whole – but undoubtedly never the same man who had left. No man who had endured such treatment could remain unchanged – no man, no Jedi.

This man lying only a few feet away looked little like the Obi-Wan she knew. He hadn't looked like this, not in the hangar a few days past, not even after Geonosis.

_Geonosis. Your master is fine, Obi-Wan and Anakin were wounded. Garen is fine, Reeft_. She had known that almost before arriving at the Temple. Her mission had not allowed her to participate in what had humorously been dubbed the "rescue Obi-Wan campaign."

No one had expected an all-out battle, or the casualties in what become the first real battle of the "Clone Wars." Two hundred twelve Jedi fought, one hundred eighty would never fight again. It was never again referred to as anything other than "Geonosis."

She had returned to the Temple just after the casualties, just a day or so after the battle – that first battle of the war, the first war in centuries. Then, as now, he had been lying in a healer's ward bed, but that time Siri's first sight of Obi-Wan had reassured her.

He had looked older, weary, arm in a sling and a furrow in his brow that had not been there before, but full of color and healthy enough. Sitting upright in bed, his bandaged leg stretched before him, he had brightened immediately upon seeing her, though a deep hurt and sorrow still lingered in the depths of his eyes.

Concern for his padawan had overridden any pain Obi-Wan had felt for his own wounds, for he had dismissed his own easily enough. The slight tremble in his hand was more a result of prolonged hunger and exhaustion, he had advised with a laugh, even holding out his good hand for her amusement to prove the truth of his words. Once Siri had understood how her friend went from a bruising fistfight to a space battle into captivity and then into a full-scale war, Siri had understood Obi-Wan truly had been pushed nearly to his physical limits.

He had said little about his duel with his master's master in the hangar, other than to say he and Anakin both owed their lives to Master Yoda. Dooku's lightsaber had stabbed deep, his lightsaber piercing Obi-Wan's leg rather than slashing through it, tearing a muscle and scraping bone.

Exhausted, in pain and feeling Anakin's pain, he had resigned himself to dying – too weak to move and too weak to stop a falling crane from crushing his padawan and he – staring at death descending upon him a second time that day only to feel a surge of the Force and the knowledge that he would not die this day.

They had both known that food and rest would be the cure for his exhaustion and his wounds. His padawan's recovery would take care of the worry hidden behind the Jedi's eyes, or so she had thought, but Anakin's recovery had only eased that concern, not entirely removed it.

Anytime after that when Siri visited, she would find Obi-Wan slumped in a chair at his padawan's side, arm in a sling, bandaged leg propped up, and eyes fixed hopefully on Anakin's face.

Not this time. Now it was Obi-Wan who lay so silent and still, with eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Thick lashes framed closed eyes shadowed by experiences Siri preferred not to contemplate. His face was still pale where not marked by fading bruises or nearly healed cuts. One equally pale and once muscular arm lay on the cover, an IV dripping fluid and nutrients into the still weakened body.

Siri had also spoken with Neille, who had told her that Obi-Wan would be fine, physically, given time. He had been dehydrated and emaciated, and he had lost far more blood than they liked to contemplate, but all that was easily rectified. The shivering was a result of his loss of body fat and low fluid volume – he simply was unable to generate enough heat to keep himself warm.

His other wounds had been repaired surgically and there was no permanent organ damage. Bacta had taken care of the infections and were speeding up his healing. Not being so personally close to Obi-Wan, Neille had been able to speak more clinically of his condition than Bant had been.

However, she was warned, Obi-Wan's connection to the Force was tenuous and fleeting, his emotional state apt to be a bit erratic, perhaps uncharacteristic. Neille had mentioned something about a brain scan and that the structure was undamaged, that perhaps if there was long lasting damage, it had been to the mind not brain. Only then had Siri realized how deeply he must have suffered, for the Jedi she knew would have been able to siphon most of his pain off to the Force to remain relatively unscathed.

_Oh, Obi_.

**

* * *

**A soft breath escaped Obi-Wan's lips and his nose twitched at the lingering scent of bacta. A hand stirred, then stilled as he once again fought towards wakefulness.

He didn't usually feel exhausted after an extended bacta treatment, but Obi-Wan felt like he'd been twisted and wrung inside out. There was a partial feeling of catharsis that accompanied it, which was puzzling, like deep and buried old pain had been cleansed, perhaps making room for pain more recent.

He didn't remember much, which wasn't unusual. The relaxant usually had the effect of making the experience fuzzy, which suited him just well, though the snickers that had followed him after the last time had made him rather uneasy.

He vaguely remembered being washed free of the gooey bacta, his wounds redressed and being walked across the hall back to his room, tucked back into a bed and told to sleep as long as he wanted, the memories flitting across his mind as he came slowly awake. The pale curtains fluttered in a light breeze from a partially cracked open window. Faint sounds protruded from outside, a quiet voice, the occasional footstep that passed by his door, the surprised cry of a youngling protesting a vaccination.

Obi-Wan just enjoyed the sensation of being aloof from life around him, wrapped in a welcome cocoon of half awareness and a warm blanket, free of cares and worry. Propped up on pillows, he was still half-asleep yet too wakeful to sleep. He kept his eyes closed as he heard the door open and then a soft rustling, for no doubt it was just a healer checking in on him. Again, and he frowned a little, for they had all but hovered for a while after his removal from the tank as if worried about him.

A hand lightly touched his and lips brushed his forehead.

_That was no healer_! His eyes flew open. Siri was sitting down beside him, her hand lying lightly over his, looking a bit guilty and hiding as always behind a fierce frown.

"Hey, you." Suddenly the frown was a smile, the tone teasing and affectionate.

"Hey," he whispered, blinking as the last vestiges of sleep dissipated.

"So you're finally awake, sleepyhead. I bribed Bant to let me in to see you."

"Mind tricked, you mean," he pushed himself a bit higher on his pillow, giving a little chuckle. He was sure he wasn't being held incommunicado. Without conscious thought, his hand entwined with hers, the grasp warm and comforting to one who had known little of gentle touches in the long weeks now behind him.

With her free hand, Siri offered him a sip of water from the glass at his bedside, saying nothing until Obi-Wan indicated he had had enough, but the squeeze of his hand she returned spoke volumes.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was trampled by a herd of banthas – but itching to get out of here, as always. What's the matter – you're staring at me."

"I – it's how you look, that's all. Terribly young."

"Young?" That surprised him; that was the last thing he expected Siri to say. Obi-Wan managed a faint grin. "I feel ancient and creaky."

"You look like the young man I fell in love with so many years ago, minus that beard – I half expect Qui-Gon to walk through that door any minute now; in fact, I was surprised not to find him at your side as he always was whenever you were here," Siri said, the fingers of her free hand running over Obi-Wan's now clean-shaven cheeks. The healers had insisted on the beard's removal, and while they were at it, they had trimmed his hair.

He looked years younger, not much older than when he had first been knighted. Only his eyes betrayed his lack of youth for they had seen too much over the long years to belong to a young man not far beyond his teens.

Obi-Wan began to wonder if he was still drugged. Siri would be more apt to slap his cheeks than caress them, especially if she knew some of the dreams he'd dared to dream to distract him from the nightmare of his captivity. Dreams, they were only dreams, and had no place in the life of a Jedi – just one more thing he needed to release into the Force.

Speaking as much to himself as to her, Obi-Wan shattered the illusion. Only reality mattered; a Jedi could not live in or on dreams, only survive on them.

"Siri. Don't," Obi-Wan said, stilling her hand with his free hand. "Don't bring it all back. It's long gone. Forgotten, remember? We're just friends, only friends."

It wasn't an illusion; Siri still sat beside him with lips parted as if unsure how to respond, hesitant – but not angry with him. If it was reality and she wasn't angry – perhaps she knew something he didn't yet – perhaps he was in worse shape than he had realized, for in reality, Siri had forbidden him to speak of youthful passions and he had honored her request all those years, until now. He was man enough to admit he was a bit afraid of the consequences of speaking the not-to-be-spoken.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Siri looked him in the eyes and drew a deep breath. "Are we? When I heard that you were killed – and then, you were alive and would be coming home – I knew then we only hid from each other for almost twenty years. Nearly twenty years of being good Jedi, doing our duty, following the path – all that time we still loved each other, and it never interfered, not once."

"That doesn't change things. You know that. Why speak of the past?" He wanted to stroke a finger across her cheek, reassure her that he had never stopped caring for her, but that the decision they had made years ago had been the right one for them both, no matter what words their hearts had spoken upon his return. His hand remained at his side.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her walk away from him another time. He just wished he could shut his ears as well, so he wouldn't have to hear her footsteps.

There was a moment's silence – a moment of mourning, a moment of loss and a moment of regrets – but only a moment, for in the next moment as he thought his heart might well break, Siri sighed and brushed a hand across his cheek.

"You stubborn gundark. Honestly, Obi-Wan, we're older, wiser now. Adults, not children, Jedi who know their duty and how to reconcile their duty with their hearts. Yoda and Adi as much as intimated that we had their blessings to stop hiding our feelings – at least from each other."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened a bit as he stared at her, not even sure how to respond.

He knew perfectly well what he was hearing – he just didn't believe he was actually hearing the words she was actually speaking. Force, was he really this desperate to evade the reality of his cell that he could no longer distinguish dreams from actuality?

Reality and unreality blurred: Ventress's face before his eyes and Siri's in his mind's eye. Perhaps it was only a dream, this freedom he had found. He had dreamed of Siri, yes, dreams had kept him company, kept him warm, helped to keep him alive, but he had never thought to dream of them as a potential reality.

Ventress had abused his body, had tried to steal his soul, and had tried to corrupt his mind and now she was after his heart. The Siri he knew would no more speak of love than – than – his dead master had comforted him that night he had found a way to free himself of the mask's evil grip.

Fear that he was still not free, that his mind was taking refuge from reality, infused his next words.

"This isn't real, is it? Don't do this to me, please." Obi-Wan shook his head, his suspicions that he must still be in Ventress's hands turned to near certainty. His mind had finally snapped. "I'm still in that cell, aren't I? Or - I'm delirious, isn't that it? Delirious or drugged? That explains it. This conversation isn't really happening."

His fingers plucked at his bedcovers in slight agitation and confusion. He knew he was _here_, but he had to be wrong. His mind must be playing tricks on him for he _had _to be back in that cell – back in the dreams that had helped keep him alive. Any minute now Ventress would drag him back to that external world – how many times would he escape only to find it an escape in his mind that only ended with a vicious yank back to reality – he relaxed to better absorb the blow, swallowing a sob so as to face _her_ as a Jedi.

Siri seemed to understand, for she only smiled and silenced his doubts as Ventress would never have done, with a tender touch.

She kissed him.

It was a feather light kiss, soft lips brushing his before those lips formed into a smile for him alone. Obi-Wan was by now all but gaping at her, mouth open, but no words were coming out, almost daring to believe he might really be free.

"Yoda said something about parting us was right then, but keeping us apart wasn't. That we understood the difference between forbidden attachment and true caring." Siri's hand moved up to stroke his cheek. "Our feelings have nothing of possessiveness or greed about it; we each care only for what is best for the other. He said few would see the distinction, so we should be circumspect, if we wished to pursue any kind of relationship."

Her cheeks flushed at her last words, but Siri didn't avoid his eyes. Obi-Wan could read fear, hope and uncertainty in them, emotions he could certainly identify with.

"You're taking advantage of an emotionally fragile man," he whispered, a mix of amusement and horror in his eyes.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi is never that fragile, besides, comfort is always recommended for the injured. Shut up and take it like a man," she whispered back, then leaned over and kissed him again – and this kiss was no mere brush of the lips, not with the response she got in return.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan returned the kiss as Siri's hands cradled his face, a smile in his eyes. It felt so right, so real, this first true kiss, Siri's lips so soft against his, this first kiss they shared rather than the one she had given him in the presence of others or the one he had given her upon his return.

The kiss ended with a gentle brush of lips, a soft gasp from one or both of them at the lingering tingle, before lips again sought lips. His hands slowly rose with the vague intention of bringing Siri closer to him until the jab of stiff muscles intervened, bringing Obi-Wan to a hazy awareness that what he was doing was something he could not indulge in unless he were just dreaming.

No matter what Siri said, surely he was dreaming, still Ventress's captive and grasping onto any comfort as he had so many times during the long, painful hours. Her lips felt so real against his, he could feel his breathing quickening in response as it never did in the dreams, her very scent tickling his nose – and full realization of reality intruded. This was no dream.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan released Siri's lips as regret and sorrow washed over him.

"No," he whispered and pulled away from her, eyes dilated. "What we almost had – we can never have. It's too late. Siri, I'm sorry, but we're different people now."

"I still love you, Obi-Wan. I always shall."

The simple admission was so freely spoken, from one who guarded her heart as well as he, that Obi-Wan struggled to find words.

"I never stopped loving you, either, Siri," he finally admitted, the ache in his throat no less than that in his heart. "That is why we can never be together. I let you go, then, as I have to do now, because we are Jedi. Our lives don't allow us to love."

He pulled Siri into a tight, hard hug, pressing his head into the back of her head – and looked up to see Master Yoda standing in the doorway with his eyes gleaming. "Oh, dear," he said softly.

"Obi-Wan – oh," Siri faintly flushed. "I should leave. Master Yoda," she bowed and quickly walked out of the room, the other two Jedi silent behind her.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan struggled to his elbows once she was out of sight, until a clawed hand gently pushed him back against the pillow. "I'm sorry about that. Forgive me. I was…weak."

Yoda didn't look at all displeased. He remained silent a moment as Obi-Wan struggled to recover his composure, giving the man a gentle pat on his hand.

"Speak another time we will on that, but a good and loving heart you have, Obi-Wan. The heart of a Jedi, it is. Fret not on now giving it voice. Rest you must, Obi-Wan, rest. Much healing you have still to do. Spoke to the healers; to Trooper Alpha I have, to the Force also I listened. See much of what you have not yet spoken in here, here, and here," his fingers touched Obi-Wan's forehead, eyes, and heart as he spoke, his eyes softening as he spoke.

He sat down, leaning forward on his gimer stick. "Brutally treated you were."

"I won't dispute that." Obi-Wan couldn't restrain a shiver of remembrance.

"Healers say your injuries have responded well to bacta treatment, though deeply troubling your captivity was to your mind; sleep you need but sleep disturbed it was so sedated you have been. Deeply worried your padawan is, quite upset. Much trauma to your body you have suffered. Much trauma to your mind that must have been as well, hmm?"

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, afraid to trust his voice until he swallowed and took strength from the wise and gentle eyes affixed on his.

"Yes," he was honest, and he closed his eyes against the memories. "It will take much meditation before I can put it all completely behind me. It wasn't at all pleasant. I have to tell you…," but he found he couldn't speak of it, not yet.

"Anything you wish to share, listen I will," Yoda said, patting Obi-Wan's hand. "That face of yours you make, seen it I have not in years, since a padawan you were. Fear not no matter of what you speak. If not to me, to a mind healer, eh? Face all the bad you must before release it you can."

The gentle lesson reminded him of lessons taught in the crèche, to initiates, and padawans, a lesson assumed to be learned by the time of one's knighting. He knew this, had known this for years, yet Yoda was reminding him of that which he knew and had apparently forgotten. He dropped his eyes, not knowing whether to nod in agreement or shake his head at his inability to follow those lessons.

"It's not – it's hard. I feel like I failed."

"Survived you did. Failure I would not call that." Obi-Wan managed a shaky smile that the younger Obi-Wan would not have. The smile vanished, to be replaced by a frown.

"Over it is, Obi-Wan, remember that. No longer a hold on you has she, if you don't allow it. Behind you it now is."

_It's not behind me!_ Obi-Wan wanted to deny. How could he live in the present, when the past still had not let loose of him? Everyone kept telling him it was past, behind him, so he'd do his best to put it there where it belonged, until the day he could release all of it to the Force.

"You're right. It's behind me," he agreed listlessly, a hand brushing his eyes as if brushing away the memories. Yoda's ears were back as if not believing he was so quick to agree. He swallowed and said in a stronger voice, "Yes, you're right of course. I'm not thinking straight or focusing on what I should."

The little Jedi straightened up, ears even further back. Obi-Wan looked away from those penetrating eyes and stilled his fingers as if to still the tumult within him.

"Misunderstand me you do. Behind you is what was _done_ to you, the suffering remains. Deny that I meant not to do. Expect you to put it behind you and move forward as if nothing happened I do not. Your pain, real it is, but pain it is of here," he touched Obi-Wan's forehead, "not so anymore of here, is it not?" His hand moved down to Obi-Wan's chest and rested there.

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, afraid he was about to break down and cry, but he wasn't about to give the pain that power.

"So tired you are, and still the Force eludes you, does it not? Too soon to worry it is, time it is to rest and to heal. When the time is right, speak of it and release it you will."

Yoda sounded so sure, but Obi-Wan just couldn't muster the strength to agree with him. He still felt drained of all energy. He shook his head, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes, unable to speak of it any longer – each word recalling a memory, a pain, or a scream. "Maybe – maybe I'm just a coward. I know what I need to do, but – I just can't do it. I don't want to go through it again."

Even with his eyes shut he couldn't hide from the memories. He had never wanted to hide before this. He had been able to successfully face and release his fears since a few years into his apprenticeship and now he felt like a crechling hiding from monsters by cowering under the covers as if safety came with avoidance.

_What's wrong with me_!

"A coward you are not. Tired you still are and unable to deal with this yet. Meditate together on this we shall. Later, when recovered physically you are. For now, rest, your strength you must regain. Suggest I do that when you have recovered sufficiently you accept Knight Tachi's offer of comfort. Help you she will. Willing she seems, though reluctant you seem."

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open in disbelief as he levered himself upright onto his elbows. If Yoda was trying to distract him, he was succeeding admirably.

"Master Yoda!"

Yoda's eyes were twinkling. "Offered you advice once your master and I did. Right advice then it was, but your devotion to the Order, to duty, to the Force you have both proven. That is all that the Code requires of you; that you have both performed admirably. When ready, to her arms go Obi-Wan and find comfort and acceptance there."

Few Jedi had ever seen "The Negotiator" at a loss for words, lips parted and stunned into silence. Obi-Wan sank back into his bed, discomfited at Yoda's words as the little master left him to his rest with a final pat on his hand.

Even in his wildest dreams he would not have dreamed of Yoda so speaking, further proof that he was neither insane nor back in that cell.

So many years had passed. Neither were adolescents in the flush of first love, torn between two futures. They were adults, committed to the Force, their choice made long ago and behind them. There could be no reclamation of what they given up, they were both different people now.

Just what exactly had Yoda meant anyhow? To freely admit to each other what they had never stopped feeling in their hearts? Speaking of what went so long unspoken changed little, if anything.

Surely Yoda wasn't insinuating…he could feel heat burn his cheeks. While such was not explicitly forbidden, such could be dangerous if affection tied the two parties too closely together and had come to be considered implicitly prohibited.

No doubt, with his sometimes archaic language and obscure pronouncements, Yoda probably only meant to encourage small, private displays of affection such as hugs. Such displays were tolerated within the Temple, and discouraged in public settings.

Though somewhat physically shy, even Obi-Wan had been forced to admit that sometimes a loving gesture comforted as few other gestures did: a hand on an arm, a rub on the back or a gentle hug. He'd always taken strength from Qui-Gon when such physical affection had been bestowed on him; indeed, just the memory of such had helped to sustain him during his fight for sanity. Caring touches, loving touches, a promise that not all touches had to be painful; that some could comfort while others only torment.

…Qui-Gon's arm wrapped around his shoulder, as he pulled his padawan close in a rare show of pure affection – he had felt warmth spread throughout his body when Qui-Gon looked down at his questioning eyes and smiled. "Just because," had wafted through the bond. He had closed his eyes and savored the closeness….

Anakin: willing to hold his master when he sought relief from the Force, giving the Jedi the strength to release a flood of emotion into it that he dared not release to his padawan.

Siri: sitting with him as he mourned Qui-Gon, her very presence saying what her lips did not, her two hands enfolding his in a clasp of warmth and understanding, his head resting against hers, there under the Haleothe flowers.

He wouldn't dare express the depth of his feelings, not now, not with Siri, not with the woman he loved. He was a Jedi; he had chosen his path years ago and would not be forsworn. His duty was to others, his loyalty to the Force, and his love would have to remain tucked deep within his heart.

But Obi-Wan couldn't stop thinking of the kiss that had greeted him and the knowledge that the love between them was still there, no longer buried deep. He wanted Siri in his arms, and her lips against his. He wanted to give all that he had and all that he was, to one person alone. The Force knew him this deeply; but its touch was not warm flesh and a loving heart, its caresses different from those coming from a living, breathing being.

He wanted what he had no right to want, he knew that; what duty demanded he resist in honor of the vow he'd made to serve the Force, not himself - a choice freely made and a vow he would respect.

He recognized as well that this desire was born out of a deep need to connect to something good, to hold onto something that wouldn't hurt in return. If he reached for that, seeking only emotional comfort, Obi-Wan knew he would just end up hurting Siri and himself by entangling them each in something arising from the worst of reasons: pure human need.

He would rather be back in Ventress's chains than hurt Siri's heart a second time. No, Siri belonged in his heart, not his arms.

He barely registered the changing of the IV bag, and when sleep again beckoned, he surrendered without protest, with only the wet track of his tears to betray him.

* * *

"Comfort of friends, Obi-Wan needs now. Encouraged this I did." Yoda's eyes held a twinkle as he passed Siri and Bant, yet his eyes held a mild warning aimed at her alone.

Siri understood his warning well enough.

She had seen the confusion replace the clarity in Obi-Wan's eyes as he spoke hoarsely of delirium, the growing fear that he was dreaming. For the first time, Siri was beginning to understand the mental devastation wrought by his captivity, the moments when he doubted his reality. Her hope that he had managed to escape somewhat mentally unscathed was fast withering under the sharp edges of apprehension.

Despite all that, one incontrovertible fact continued to warm Siri's heart: Obi-Wan had returned her kiss and it had not been just a mere brushing of lips. His mouth had sought hers as a parched man might seek water. Though he had been the one to break it off, to withdraw, he had shown no signs of regret for what had happened, only for what he seemed determined could never happen again.

A hand lightly touched her arm, and Siri looked at Bant. The Mon Calamarian glanced back into the room at a now sleeping Obi-Wan, and back at Siri, resuming their conversation.

"He is going to be okay, Siri, but it's going to take time. I don't think he even realizes yet what kind of mental stress he endured, and it's starting to catch up to him. Neille said Obi was joking around a bit during his exam, much as normal, then he got, well, a bit withdrawn. Neille was kind of shook by Obi's manner of speaking as much as by what he apparently said, kind of like he was disassociating himself from what happened."

"That's not like him."

Bant nodded in agreement. "He also had that bad reaction in the bacta tank. Neither the mind healer nor Anakin have been willing to say much about that. Ceilan, the mind healer, said we aren't to be too surprised if he starts behaving uncharacteristically. She will be working with him as soon as he shakes off that horrible exhaustion and she warned us it might be a bit rough for a while."

"But – but he's recovering well!" The protest was weak but automatic. Obi-Wan was fine, would be fine, would always be fine, once any physical wounds were tended and healing complete. Yet even as she protested, she knew he was not immune to emotional wounds, they just tended to be wounds he hid within himself.

Hidden as he left the Temple for Bandomeer, knowing he would never be a Jedi. Hidden after returning to the Temple after Melida/Daan, feeling unwelcomed and an outcaste. Hidden when he returned after Naboo, grief at the death of his master put aside to deal with a young boy facing a life he had never known and yet always dreamed of.

"He's safe now – he's safe."

With gentle sympathy, Bant guided Siri to a seat beside her, where the two females were out of the way, united in their concern for their friend.

"And that's why he can stop being strong," Bant said. "But you know Obi – he doesn't know how to be weak. He'll keep fighting. He has to stop fighting before he can truly recover. Cielan say we have to be prepared for some anger and frustration, maybe even tears. Until they work with him his reactions will be hard to predict."

"Tears?" Siri echoed. _Obi-Wan – tears_? They'd all seen the occasional tear on Obi-Wan's face; no, what Bant was not saying was not just the stray tear or two, but real tears of real pain and emotional turmoil.

"He needs a way to release what he went through, and right now the Force isn't too cooperative. The longer it takes to regain his connection, the harder it'll be on him."

"Force – it was really that bad." With painful clarity, Siri realized what he had endured was far worse than she'd even imagined when first greeting Obi-Wan.

His eyes – she now remembered his eyes before they'd brightened at seeing her - and Siri shivered, remembering the desolation and regret that followed, the pain that he tried to hide as he denied himself any chance of happiness.

She would fight for Obi-Wan with everything she had to fight with, and this time, she was free to fight with love as part of her arsenal. She just hoped it would be enough.


	43. The Many Faces of Love

It was the silence that woke him.

It was the shiver of ice up his spine that froze him to stillness, only the thudding of his heart that betrayed his body's crash into hard-edged alertness even while his mind was yet trapped in a paralysis of raw emotion and slow to rational thought.

Silence.

Not dead silence, no, but silence interrupted by intermittent soft sounds – sounds of approaching pain, surely. His soft whimper of protest broke the silence. _No, not again, not back there – no_. He almost panicked – waiting for whatever Ventress and Aidus would find amusing this time, what he would have to endure – the dread of what was to come as sharp as her vibroblades and harder to resist.

But resist he had to do, for neither hiding nor protesting protected him. There was no protection; there was only the steeling against what was to come, to hold onto his faith that the Force wanted him to endure all this for a reason.

There was only one way to fight it – to face _her_, and so he dragged his eyes open –

- to see no one. He was alone.

No Ventress, no Aidus…no Alpha. No hunched shoulders, long past cramping, stretched without mercy behind him and holding his weight, no toes striving to rest on the ground and no nerves rippling fire to remind him he was still alive.

Eyes still unfocused, slow to shake off the effect of the sedatives in his system, blinked as fingers busily explored, trying to reconcile touch, sound, sight into one coherent reality. Slower to initial belief, his mind was quicker to process the evidence of his senses.

Dazed and bewildered eyes confirmed that he wasn't back _there_, but _here_, where his fingers could touch what he now saw; confirmation that his external reality matched the internal. He was lying in a sweat-drenched bed, his head resting on a pillow rather than his chest and with a blanket warming a body once bare and warmed only by blows and blood.

He forced himself to slow, easy breaths; tensed muscles gradually relaxed as he scrubbed a quick hand across his face and through damp hair. A strangled half-sob, half-laugh escaped him.

Oh dear Force, it was only a nightmare.

He had been remarkably free of them, since Naboo, as if all the nightmares of a lifetime were his to endure at that one time. Since then, nightmares had been something to waken Anakin from, a reason to hold and comfort the boy that he had then been, his own arms a haven offering security and safety.

Those same arms now wrapped around himself, subconsciously seeking to offer himself that same assurance, for what his mind now accepted his body was only just now coming to accept. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and nerves still twitched with the impulse to run or fight back, to do _something_ to protect himself.

His mind began to sort chaos into order; an instinctive reaction for the Jedi. Half-heard and only half-remembered snatches of conversation made sense now; he had been sedated and kept asleep, given sedatives that had muddled his mind and kept any nightmares at bay - until now, it seemed.

The lighting was dim, brightened only by the lights of the few monitors that remained. The healers were merely taking precautions, he vaguely remembered hearing them assure him, his body worn so badly they preferred to be cautious. Overly cautious, he had thought; Force exhaustion apparently killed one right away or not at all and the one thing he knew without doubt was that he was not dead.

The times he had almost wished to be were behind him now; that wish one a Jedi should never have. Accept death if that was the Force's will, yes, to wish for it, no.

The soft beeps and whirs, these had to be the sounds that he had heard; these were the sounds of a past not yet behind him and a promise of a future waiting for him, a time when he could put all this behind him.

He _was_ here, safe in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by friends and colleagues. All he had to do was open to the Force and feel them nearby.

So he did; he reached for the Force and for those who touched it.

But it wasn't there; no one was there. He couldn't feel anyone, not a whisper of a soul came through the Force. He caught his breath as adrenaline again spiked through him and then - only then did he again relax as he realized the Force was merely out of reach, beyond his fingertips. It was still there, still nearby, just not a part of him. He couldn't feel it, but he could hear it, faintly, whispering to him that it hadn't gone far – and would return with his strength.

The promise was enough. He had survived without access to the Force before this, with no promise of its return.

His grip slowly loosened and his hands slipped back to his side.

Footsteps approached his side and then Bant leaned over him to straighten the covers. Seeing the faint sheen of sweat on his face, she whispered, "Oh, Obi, another nightmare?"

She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, only to take the hand he stretched out to her instead and give it a comforting squeeze. "Oh, you're awake. Do you want a sedative or a Force suggestion so you can go back to sleep?"

_I'm fine; I'll be fine, just…please_, "Just sit with me a while." His voice was hoarse as if he had been screaming, but if he had been, they had been silent screams.

Bant brushed a hand against his cheek. Obi-Wan nestled his head into her hand, only to flinch and try to shift away.

"Obiiii!" she scolded, only to feel a shiver shake his body. Friend again became healer as Bant frowned at him. Before Obi-Wan quite knew what had happened, Bant had stripped him from his damp clothes, had a bowl of warm water at his side and a cloth in her hand.

He relaxed under Bant's tender ministrations as she washed the sweaty residue of his nightmare from him, the warm cloth and long strokes up and down his chest, his spine and shoulder blades – _oh, that feels so good_ – finishing with lighter strokes up his neck, his chin, and finally his face.

"Mmm," he sighed in now sleepy contentment. "Thanks."

Bant smiled and laid a hand on Obi-Wan's brow. Sensing that the temporary shielding that Anakin had placed in her friend's mind during the bacta tank episode was fraying, she unobtrusively reinforced them with a small nudge of Force. They were meant to dissolve over time, but that time did not need to be the middle of the night.

"Feel better?" She laughed at Obi-Wan's mumble and settled down by his side, taking his hand in hers and stroking it until his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, bathing him in warm waves of the Force much as she had bathed the sweat from him.

Obi-Wan sighed and turned his cheek against his pillow, letting the dual sensations of warmth and affection envelop both mind and body.

When Bant's comlink called her away, she patted Obi-Wan's hand and slipped away with no qualms about leaving him, for she was sure that sleep had again claimed the Jedi.

She was mistaken. His mind was not yet ready to surrender to the sleep his body still craved.

Upon hearing her receding footsteps, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and turned his head, his eyes following her; a hint of anxiety deep within them. For a moment he wanted to call out to Bant, ask her not to leave him, to keep him company – but he made a conscious decision not to.

He needed to find his own strength again; he could not continue to lean on others for much longer.

Eventually, he drifted into that comfortable state between awake and asleep, a state of pure being where neither dreams or reality could intrude too deeply, a state of serenity and peace much like deep meditation. He merely _was_, his feelings muted to a point where he was aware of them, yet not feeling them, able to examine them without experiencing them.

An imposed state of mental numbness aligned with a natural mental reaction to extreme stress also contributed to this mental state, though to a lesser extent. The healers, in consultation with members of the Council, knew that Obi-Wan could not – would not – want to be shielded from the horror of his experiences for long. He would know that his experience needed to be faced and dealt with, but he was not yet a well man. It was too soon, all had agreed.

The temporary, now reinforced, mental shields and the sedatives were meant to assure that the Jedi got a long rest to counter the exhaustion that had stolen his strength.

This mental and emotional state of detachment was the result.

He drifted half-awake and half-asleep – feelings and memories washing over him but not truly touching him, waves softly lapping against the shore of his consciousness before receding and reforming into the next wave.

He had been badly mistreated; Obi-Wan understood that without truly comprehending it. He even remembered most of what he had endured, but it was like watching a Holonet show where all that had happened to him had really happened to someone else, so the pain wasn't really his, nor the horror of it.

Half-open, somewhat curious eyes were drawn to his wrists, scrawny wrists sticking out of his sleeves and lying quietly on his chest, fingers bandaged and splinted after having been re-broken and set properly. He remembered looking at them floating in blood, though why would they be floating in blood? He had not thought to look at them aboard the ship when his eyes had been focused on his torso and the reflection of his eyes in the glass – they hadn't been floating in blood, then, had they?

No, he remembered seeing the scars and bruises in the looking glass, the prominence of rib bones, but that had been that other man, the one he didn't recognize who stared back at him. That man had quite clearly been through hell; he had been far luckier.

His brow furrowed as he struggled with the thought. If it was a looking glass, it was a reflection; if it was a reflection, it was him. He was the one who had lived in hell. And he began to understand, now, many things he hadn't before.

He understood now the quiet horror in Bant's eyes, Siri's – why his padawan had been so desperate to know who was behind his master's mistreatment. Siri, as always, hid behind sarcasm and humor, for surely – surely that was what was behind her earlier words. They had never referred to those days, those fleeting days of knowing the power of love, and if he had thought of her during his captivity, it was a normal reaching for something good from his memories to combat the agony of his then current reality.

"_If I have to lose you, it better be after I haven't seen you in a long while, not while the memory of you is fresh."_

Siri had told Anakin to watch out for him – something had told her that Obi-Wan might be in danger. Siri rarely saw the future, it was not one of her many talents.

How she had to have felt, once word came of his "death," considering how she had almost fallen into his arms in the hangar. She was a strong woman and an even stronger Jedi. He had thought she would have mourned him for a time; then moved on, for it was the Jedi way. It had been therefore hard to imagine how she would take the news of his resurrection from the dead, no matter what Anakin had said.

So many things they had promised never to speak of or refer to and he had indulged in dreams of them all during his captivity. He would need to carefully mind his thoughts the next time he saw Siri, for it would never do to confuse fantasies that had saved him with realities of what was and had to be. Whatever he had expected, possibly even hoped for, it had not been even close to reality.

If he didn't know Siri better, he might have called her actions in the hangar _flirting, _but Siri would never do that – not to him, not after their history and not after their giving each other up - especially in so public a place.

Relief, he had thought at the time. It had to have been relief, not flirting. Relief often made beings – especially humans – react in strange and overwrought ways. Jedi were no less immune to such reactions, even if their training meant any such emotions were quickly banished to the Force.

He had, briefly, even considered the thought that Anakin might have put her up to some kind of teasing that had gotten out of hand. His padawan had not forgotten for one minute that kiss on parting, since he even gone so far as to suggest to Siri that she in turn kiss him.

He had been sure that Siri, practicable Siri - especially practicable Siri – had regretted every word out of her mouth and had mentally kicked herself from one end of the Temple to the other. He had had no doubt, not then, that he would have been following in short order, were he not confined to the healers.

Seeing her again, holding her in his arms for those brief moments, even the brief touch of her lips against his, had shown him that his dreams in that cell were not just a distraction, a way to occupy his mind. They were the wishes of the heart.

He would have given himself to her, Code or no Code, held her in his arms and let her hold him in hers, if it had made up for his absence, if it had been what she truly wanted of him, to assure her of his return – but no, he had persuaded himself that Siri had not meant any of what she had said, for she had as much as said so herself.

Yet then had come her later kiss, her later words. She had kissed him, a kiss perhaps meant to comfort and reassure, but a kiss that had became so much more – a kiss that a woman gave to a man she loved – and a kiss he had willingly returned.

He no longer doubted Siri's feelings, or his own. He doubted what they should do about it – what they should admit and what they should not, what they should do and what they should not.

Their vows to the Force took precedence over them both, no matter their hearts urging.

From doubts now came understanding, even acceptance.

He understood now. He loved Siri. He always had, he always would; he had never stopped loving her. It was a love that had deepened with the years, one based on mutual respect, friendship and affection. It was no longer the intense and overwhelming love of a young man, but a quieter and richer love that needed nothing, not even the return of affection.

Love based on physical desire: no, for such was little more than lust and a Jedi did not lust. _There is no passion. _He had no desire to possess, only a desire to share who she was and who he was, their entire selves open to the other, the deepest possible intimacy two living beings could find.

Yet even such selfless love was forbidden: Jedi could not love another, only all others_. _

He loved those who made life most difficult – and most rewarding.

He had loved his master, even when he thought all he was or ever would be was just a student for the master to teach, given value by his role, not his person. He had loved his master even if it meant surrounding himself with the strangest of creatures from time to time. He hadn't minded too much, despite his posturing, but the few that insisted on munching on him had really been more than a padawan should have to bear.

He had loved Qui-Gon when things had been easy between them and when they had not. He had understood when his master had lost faith in him; after Melida/Daan he had lost faith in himself, though never in his master. He had only wavered in his knowledge of his master's affections when his master had stepped away from his padawan and spoke for another in his place.

The hurt then had been mutual, yet the bonds of affection had not been severed, he had quickly realized: that tie remained no matter what other ties might have been severed between them.

Death had severed that tie and given him another. The padawan lost his master, and became master to a padawan of his own. A new bond had formed along with a new tie of affection. In time, affection had bloomed into love.

He loved his padawan. Aggravating as a Jedi should never be, Anakin had one of the kindest hearts Obi-Wan had ever encountered. Homesick, grieving himself, he had come to comfort his new master when grief had finally found release, that night his friends had thrown him a mock knighting ceremony, showing him that life still went on.

Anakin had proved that which his friends had shown him that night; leaving his bed to see if Obi-Wan was hurting, sensing his grief spilling over. The hesitant voice as he'd asked, "Master Obi-Wan, are you okay?"

He hadn't been, no matter how hard he'd tried to be for the best part of a week, his pillow wet with the tears he had been keeping inside and no longer could. Anakin had padded hesitantly over to his side as he sat up and wiped his cheeks clean of the betraying wet tracks, for the worry in that young face had become far more important than his own pain.

Suddenly, he had known he was going to be okay, he just hadn't allowed himself time to truly grieve before trying to move on. Now life, his future, was beckoning to him in the form of this boy.

"I am, Padawan, with you here with me." He'd opened his arms and gathered the boy in a quick hug, the first they'd shared, before hoisting him in his arms and carrying him back to his own bed.

Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel the warmth of those arms around his neck and the feel of silky hair nestled under his chin.

Despite all the rocky patches, the arguments and disagreements, he always remembered the hugs and laughs; he missed the openhearted cheerful boy who knew little of life's disappointments and frustrations.

Obi-Wan understood now. He cherished life, so he cherished his friends and his padawan.

_Ah, my padawan, you begin to understand your heart_. _The next part is accepting it_. _Your heart has always guided you without your full knowledge, but know it now, embrace it and accept it._ _It is your strength, even more so than your wisdom and dedication._

With that understanding, he began to feel again. The paralysis of feeling, the _numbness_ was slowly receding; the emotions touching him faintly, but still incapable of reaching too deeply – more like haunting memories of emotions without power to harm, but striking a chord nonetheless.

Warming him.

Warmth. Soothing warmth to a body too long chilled – he barely remembered the sensation of warmth. Even now, it was fleeting, the chill of a passing cloud that would in turn pass itself.

Warmth. Soothing warmth of friendships, of love – thawing a heart that had been forced into hibernation, wrapped against a winter chill and now unfurling to spring's warmth.

He understood now -he finally, truly understood. The Force claimed his mind and his soul, his allegiance and his loyalty freely given, his devotion to its will total and eternal. It was a part of him; it was his reason for being - but it did not claim the entirety of his heart. Others claimed a portion of it; Siri claimed that and more.

He loved Siri.

He loved her as he loved all the others he loved, yet he also loved her as a man loved a woman. It was both love of and love for Siri, and thus different for the love he bore others, yet no different in the ways that counted.

For years he had managed to convince himself that it was in the past, a youthful indiscretion, a crush, but his time in captivity had taught him different. The years had only deepened his feelings. He loved her enough to love from a distance, to let her be the Jedi she was. He loved her enough to let her go wherever her path took her, and to be there to say hello when she returned, as she had with him: he loved her enough to let her go where she needed to be.

He understood now. Love had always given him strength. It was love that asked for nothing and love that was freely given.

_It was love that freed you, padawan mine – do you not remember? At least you are rediscovering your capacity to love; the heart you have tried too hard to hide from others and succeeded merely in hiding from yourself. _

Perhaps that meant that his love was not quite as forbidden as he had thought it to be, for the love he had was contained within no boundaries or expectations. It merely _was_, a state of being, not a state of wanting. It had nothing of possessiveness about it, hence no greed; it demanded nothing in return for itself.

So many times in that cell he had allowed himself to think of a future where they could have been together, had the Order allowed such things. It had been the one thing that was truly his: something that Ventress could never take away from him.

It was a fantasy, a life that never was or never could be, but fantasy took him away from reality, from where _her_ hands were torturing his flesh to where Siri's arms comforted him. A world where hate was not scrawled upon his body, but soft arms and lips caressed it instead, where he lay in the arms of the woman he loved rather than writhed under the touch of one who despised him.

So many things had saved his sanity during those long days and nights – thoughts of Anakin, still needing guidance, thoughts of Siri, needing nothing from him but his friendship and thoughts of honor, of duty, of sacrifice for a noble cause.

He had held on by the barest of training, of skill, of hope.

Anakin had come for him: his strong, capable, and loyal padawan who had never given him up despite all the evidence that said he should.

Siri had come to him, even if just in dreams. She had anchored him; she, too, had saved him, though she knew it not, and – his lips parted in a small smile – would either poke him in the ribs if he told her how forbidden dreams of them together had helped save him - or kiss him again. Which one, he was no longer sure.

Padawan, friends, colleagues – and eventually, the Force itself – all would see to it that he healed and recovered. He was not alone, never alone.

The warm cradle of that knowledge tucked around him as his mind yielded finally to sleep's beckoning call.


	44. A New Day

* * *

I got a bit off tangent on this story, but with a friend's help I got back on - not apparent for a number of chapters, yet.

Awakening came gradually with no harsh edges to define _awake_ from _asleep_. It was much as he had finally fallen asleep; it was how he now awoke.

For once his eyes did not immediately snap open – or try to snap open, for there had been many times when he was in too much pain to do much more than try. Blurry eyes, pain-burnished eyes instead had been slow to part, unwilling to yield to yet another day, even if the mind screamed warnings: brace yourself, prepare yourself, do what you can to protect yourself.

Not this time, this day.

The peace of a fresh morning bathed his spirit, a serene acceptance that this was his reality now; that what was in the past would remain there even if the effects lingered.

He lay quietly, letting the warm amber light spill across his lids, a promise that darkness never permanently banished light, that day would always follow night and hope replace despair. Healing would follow suffering, but in its own time.

With this newfound clarity of mind, Obi-Wan understood for the first time that up until now he had been having trouble distinguishing his current reality from unreality, and not just upon awakening. Confusion and uncertainty had been clouding his perception; his memories since his return were a blur of the real and the fancied, of events real and of events imagined.

How much of what he remembered was accurate?

Swimming in blood was certainly his immersion in bacta, getting upset with Mace was unlikely. Kissing Siri was a dream, one that had threatened to dissolve into nightmares only to resolve into a fantasy come to life.

Anakin's sitting at his side, grasping his hand as if he needed the physical contact was real. Of that Obi-Wan had no doubt, none at all.

Bant's tears, Mace's grunt of amusement, and Yoda's words urging him into an acknowledgement of his feelings for Siri – were these memories just as real, or a combination of real and unreal?

Even his forced submersion into darkness may have been a dream, nay - nightmare, conjured of a stressed mind and abused body acerbated by hunger and exhaustion – must have been, for one as fully ensnared in darkness as he thought he had been could not abide the light.

Yet the soft light caressed him, dancing across his face in rhythm to the shifting of the partially cracked open blinds. In the warm cocoon of his covers he nestled and quieted his mind to let the Force flow through him, if it would.

And it did.

Warmth, a tiny bit of warmth, took shape and spread through his mind, only to slowly subside but not entirely disappear.

If he had ever to put words to describe the Force, warmth and light might be words that would spring automatically to mind. Others might describe the Force as a symphony in multi-part harmony, some as the splashing of water on pebbles in a water fountain or waves breaking on an ocean shore. Some saw it as ribbons of color or a soft glow; a few had no perceptions of it just as one did not perceive the air one breathed but missed it should be it absent.

How each Jedi perceived the Force was as individual as the Jedi; just as for some that perception never changed while for others perceptions shifted as did sand dunes under the wind's prodding.

Obi-Wan _felt _the Force, for even the warm glow he perceived as light was so soft-edged as to be more felt than seen; it's words, be they whispers or commands, as much push or tug as sound. He felt its presence much as he felt the warmth of affection freely bestowed or of a warm blanket on a cool night; he felt it in the satisfaction following a successful negotiation that brought harmony where there had been discord, or where violence was averted.

He felt it as he did now, the light and the warmth that told him the darkness had not claimed him, no matter the poisonous tendrils that had insinuated themselves within his mind. Untouched he might not be, but consumed – no.

_Fear not_…the Force whispered across his mind, its reassurance not in words but in its presence. Faint, perhaps impermanent, but the promise of its full return was that of a sunny-headed snowbud poking through the a downy blanket of white in promise of spring to come. _Worry not, for now, heal_. _Let me take those fears and those worries from you, if for just this moment_.

Ever obedient to the Force's urging, he resisted the instinct to reach for what had been so long out of reach - to grab a hold of it, to cling to it; his years of training allowing Obi-Wan to relax and let the Force swirl through him as it would and take what it would and leave behind what it wished.

What it left behind was an uncharacteristic lightness of heart verging on giddiness, a normal reaction for a human temporarily relieved of his burdens and still influenced by the last lingering wisps of sedatives and shields. The aches and pains of a deeply troubled mind and soul faded into temporary inconsequence, not gone, not released, but put aside to another time.

_Yes: you have survived and you did not succumb; yet you are not unmarked. You have known hate and you have known anger, but you have also rediscovered your heart's capacity to love. You will continue to struggle yet awhile, until you release what you now but set aside, but now – now rest and let me carry those burdens for you. _

Hate and rage; love: emotions all that were forbidden to him; emotions all that had swept through him. He had released as best he could the first two at his own heart's and mind's urging, his own sense of right and wrong. It had not taken the Force's urging to do so; his own conscience and principles required it. Hate and anger were gone, unwanted, yet love lingered, to be buried deep within, the Jedi's heart loathe to let it go entirely.

_Do you really think it will be that easy, Kenobi?_

_It has to be done and so it shall be done._

The subconscious mind spoke and the subconscious mind rebutted, for this day anything was possible. If fear of what he might harbor within still lingered, it was dismissed from conscious thought and relegated to the past. It was not the way of a Jedi, but of a man, a way for a mind still too bruised to deal with all that it had seen and felt. It was, for Obi-Wan Kenobi, a way that would hasten his recovery and delay it as well.

Oblivious to this internal dialogue on any conscious level, he smiled at the sense of well-being flooding him.

Stretching, he was happily aware that his muscles reluctantly stretched with him rather than bitterly resisting, though they were quick to remind him not to stretch too much, too far. They, too, needed more time to recover strength and suppleness, but as with his mind, they had started on the journey.

While health was still an illusion, it was an illusion that he indulged in, for he knew all too well that illusions shattered and broke under reality.

So, while to fight a nest of gundarks – and to survive the same - was not a real possibility for a lone Jedi – he knew that from experience – Obi-Wan even felt strong enough to consider the impossibility to be a mere improbability. Even if he had not recovered his physical agility, he no longer felt like an invalid, tied to his bed and wholly dependent on others.

The extreme exhaustion that had so characterized him had finally eased into mere tiredness, a weariness born of a traumatic experience but a weariness not unfamiliar to him from other times, other missions.

Even the slow processing of events that seemed all his mind had been capable of had diminished; the mental lethargy as much from trauma as sedatives and shields. To the Jedi, it was all – incorrectly - attributable to his exhaustion, for he had yet no awareness, no knowledge, of the temporary shields that still protected parts of his mind or the last lingering effects of the sedatives still in his system.

He only cared that this time, when he woke there was no momentary panic or uneasiness. This day, even if just this one day, he would put the past behind him and not look back. He would move forward, somehow forgetting or choosing to forget that the past was not so easily dismissed. It was one way of coping, but only a temporary solution.

He would accept this day, and those to come, as the gift each indeed was. Not so long ago, a time he would now put behind him, he had not looked forward to any tomorrows. In his weakest moments during captivity, he had sometimes even wondered if there would be any tomorrows for him, and if they were all like the _todays _he was enduring, what was the point of enduring?

_Today,_ and the _todays_ to come, were not to endure but to live. In so doing, he would honor the memory and teachings of his master. Yesterday was gone, nevermore to be seen; the future always a day not yet arrived.

And so, quiet contentment softened the lines etched into his still-gaunt face as Obi-Wan hummed under his breath, not even aware of doing so. Such unrestrained and unconscious satisfaction did it signal, that his friends never commented on it, taking quiet delight in something the Jedi himself was not aware of. It was rare to hear, and thus treasured all the more by those who felt privileged to hear it.

A chuckle made him turn his head to see Bant's face peeking in the doorway, and he returned her smile; her delight like a ray of sunshine to a sun-deprived soul.

"You're awake, Obi, how do you feel this morning?"

"I feel quite well, thank you." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Going off duty?"

"In a little while, so I can keep you company – hey, my choice, Obi, okay?" Bant pulled up a chair. "You've had a bit of a rough few days – oh, Obi, I didn't mean to imply -."

"Shh," he gently hushed, noting her distress and correctly inferring that Bant thought he might think she was minimizing the last few months. He reached for her hand and curled his fingers around it, waiting patiently for her return squeeze.

Once he had it, he made a face at her and continued on as if they had not been interrupted.

"The mind's been a bit off, I'll admit. I have a few doubts about some things I remember, or how accurate – now that the drugs are wearing off, I know how confused I was. I also think I know what coming off a hangover must feel like – no, no, it's not bad, just – strange, rather like being drunk on euphoria rather than alcohol. I feel the Force, Bant."

"So that is what is making you 'high.'" Bant giggled, eliciting a big grin back from her friend and a gently indignant protest.

"I am not 'high.' I'm relieved, happy, and comfortable - and I _am_ babbling on like a drunk, aren't I?"

"Yep." Bant grinned at her friend and his suddenly sheepish look. "The Council should see their newest member now. I can just hear Master Yoda now: 'control, Master Obi-Wan, control, detoxify yourself you must.' Master Windu would stare at you in oh-so-silent disapproval, inwardly deciding whether to have what you had and see what a smile instead of a frown did for his spirits – what, Obi?"

Some of Obi-Wan's high spirits dampened; a memory resurfaced, unclear and fuzzy, but sufficient to interrupt Bant's teasing.

"I didn't - I, ah, didn't actually yell at Mace, did I?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi yell? No. You've never yelled at Anakin, so why Master Windu?" Just as Obi-Wan started to relax, Bant added, "I did hear that you had raised your voice to him. The whole Temple heard that rumor – must didn't believe it. A few were trying to take bets on how long he was speechless, but no one had any way of verifying the story without approaching Master Windu himself."

Torn between a grin and chagrin, all Obi-Wan could think to say was, "Oh."

"Stop worrying, Obi. Master Windu was worried, not angry. It's so unlike you to get upset. You were carrying on about everyone wanting to force you to talk when you had no wish to, and you got rather – um – forceful about it."

"I didn't!' Obi-Wan stared at Bant, only to groan as she nodded at him. "I can just hear Anakin now - ."

"Hear me what?" A merry voice interrupted and the young man himself lounged against the doorway, head tilted in amusement and expectation.

Two heads swiveled as one, so intent on their conversation they were startled.

"You're up awfully early for someone with no reason to be." Obi-Wan could remember very few occasions when Anakin chose to get up early when he had no need. He had been no different when young, burying his head in his pillow to deny the new day, but the number of days he could sleep in could be counted on one hand ever since his own apprenticeship.

"Aw, well, I wanted to work on some modifications for Artoo." Anakin evaded the question with a shrug of his shoulders and changed the subject. "So are you, Master. You're awfully cheery this morning – more awake than I've seen you since we got back. I can even feel a hint of your presence in the Force."

"And I, you; I seem to have reconnected with it, at least for now. One doesn't know how much one relies on the Force until it's not there." With a mischievous grin, he added, "I even feel strong enough to take on a nest of gundarks, assuming you're willing to be at my side."

"No thanks, Master." Anakin shuddered. "You and gundarks – without me you would have been shred into tiny pieces, you were lucky to escape with just a claw wound in your back and a bum leg. I'm not letting you face any ever again, with or without me. So, what was this I walked in on too early to hear the details?"

"Nothing you need to know, Padawan."

"Secrets, Master?"

"No…it's just –"

"Oh, Obi, the rumors are worse than the real story. Anakin has probably heard all about you and Master Windu."

"Oh ho," Anakin grinned, straightening up and shaking his head at his master. "It's true – you did yell at Master Windu? I did hear some kind of rumor among the padawans – c'mon, tell. I can defend your honor better if I know what I'm defending against."

"My honor doesn't need defending," Obi-Wan countered weakly. He looked at Bant and asked, a plaintive tone in his voice, "Does it?"

"Anakin, stop teasing your master – look at him," Bant ordered, taking pity on her friend. "He was a bit silly up to now and now we're upsetting him."

Obi-Wan raised a hand and waggled it in a clear negation of Bant's words. He was chagrined, true, but he also was aware that Mace would not have taken offense no matter what he might have said, or how. Despite appearances, the senior Jedi could be quite an understanding man; he deliberately cultivated the stern and unflappable "don't mess with Mace" persona he wore as a second skin.

It worked; few masters stood up to him, most knights held their tongue, and every padawan quailed when faced with that penetrating stare that tolerated little.

That persona had intimidated Obi-Wan often enough as a padawan, but much to his surprise, after his knighting and during the years subsequent, he had found Council Member Windu to be not the same man as "Mace" in private.

He had gotten his first real glimpse into the man behind the Jedi master years ago on Naboo.

Overwhelmed by the death of his master, his knighting, and the responsibility of his own padawan, all within mere hours of each other, Obi-Wan would have welcomed anyone's reassuring words or presence. Yoda had, of course, offered him that before and after his master's memorial service; just as his friends did upon his return. Unexpectedly, Mace Windu had stepped forward as well.

The only one to acknowledge the grieving padawan behind the stoic new knight, Mace had also been the only one out of the entire Council to urge him to take time to mourn before committing his time to his padawan, time Obi-Wan now knew he should have taken, but time then he had thought would only confuse his new apprentice further should he be separated from the only person he knew at such a vulnerable time in the young boy's life.

Young Anakin had left his mother and the only life he knew at Qui-Gon Jinn's side, only to have his dreams initially dashed and the man he had so quickly come to idolize die. It had devastated the boy, perhaps even more than the padawan, or so Obi-Wan had told himself. Whether or not true, it was a belief that Anakin, too, had adopted – that a deep bond of just a few days duration was perhaps more intense than a bond developed over half the apprentice's lifetime.

Obi-Wan was now able to admit, as well, that focusing so intently on Anakin as he had, had helped him to cope, serving both as a distraction and an outward focus to keep him from feeling too deeply his own confused emotions.

It had been more than just concern for both the former padawan and the new padawan, both trying to adjust, that had Mace's attention. It was compassion.

No being could function as a Jedi without compassion, Obi-Wan well knew - compassion and a cool head were perhaps the two most important attributes required of a Jedi – yet he had been surprised into silence when it had been Mace who stood at his side offering understated sympathy when he had been feeling most vulnerable.

Dark eyes that Obi-Wan only knew as stern and unyielding had softened at that time, a gentle hand had been pressed to Obi-Wan's shoulder as the "terror of the padawans" reminded the Order's newest knight that although a Jedi released his grief to the Force, it was acceptable to grieve a while before releasing the feelings.

It was advice that Obi-Wan had not taken, and it had taken its toll in a week of sleepless nights and a month of restless slumber.

Subsequent to the triumph and tragedy that was Naboo, Mace had unofficially appointed himself in the role of surrogate mentor to the new knight. In time he had as well grown into a great friend, as age and experiences minimized the differences that separated a padawan from a Council member.

The friendship was not one of warm affection as with his age mates or even Yoda, but it was a valued and treasured friendship just the same, and it would distress Obi-Wan should he ever put it in jeopardy. Since he apparently had not, he was more embarrassed and concerned about the apparent rumors going around the Temple.

Without asking Mace the real story behind the rumor, Obi-Wan had to accept that his memories of the conversation would be forever hazy, and Anakin had to be placated with the knowledge that the story behind the rumor was true and his master had been one of the few to get sharp with Mace without consequence.

Anakin knew just how to use his knowledge to bolster his master's prestige, and thus his own. At least he had sense enough to know how rumors grew, and kept the story low key enough so that it didn't explode into total fantasy. When the story finally reached Mace, it would be so patently untrue that Mace in truth would find it quite amusing.

The three visited until Anakin's growling stomach made Obi-Wan send him off for first meal.

"Speaking of food," Bant offered once Anakin had left, "according to the chart, Neille will let you try some real food today. Don't expect to handle it at first. Nauseated Obi-Wan," Bant looked up and shuddered dramatically. "I think I'd better get out of here before I get stuck with feeding you –that way, too, I won't have to clean you up."

"Says the lucky healer who cleaned me up last night," Obi-Wan deadpanned.

"Says the lucky patient who got me," Bant corrected with a soft laugh. "If I'kk had been on duty with Neille last night, you could have had wet fur or cold gloves against your skin instead. Oh, Obi, you sound almost like yourself now; it's so nice to hear you laugh." Bant leaned forward and hugged Obi-Wan, letting her head rest against his chest.

"Letting you go was hard, but waiting for your return was much harder and then seeing what shape you were in – oh, how I missed you my friend. I am so happy to have you back."

"I'm happy to be back, too." Instead of the heartfelt emphasis he really felt, he delivered it in a deliberately droll manner to cheer her up.

"So today you know who you are and where you are, right?"

"Indeed I do, I'm me and I'm at my favorite place, the healers." He smirked as Bant got a worried look on her face as she straightened up, reaching to lay a hand on his forehead before Obi-Wan playfully swatted it away.

"Amnesia?"

"Nope, no fever either. Just happy to be here, to know the nightmare is over. Well, that nightmare, anyway." He fell silent, for the long nightmare that was war itself was far from over. Force knew he'd been in plenty of "aggressive negotiations" over the many years, starting with his apprenticeship. He'd seen far too many things that he would rather have not, horrors and cruelties that the Force cushioned his spirit from, but this war did not end. Would it ever end?

He would continue to have faith in the Force that it would. Faith that all would work out, for faith was the only thing that he had.

Faith and friends.

It was really all he needed – and he had both.


	45. The Perils of Porridge

Soft footsteps approached and went by without slowing. A wisp of conversation floated in, a brief burst of laughter. A breeze stirred the curtains.

All a part of life and it all passed Obi-Wan by.

Propped up on pillows, the Jedi stared out the window. His fingers did not twitch, his face was quiet in repose, yet he was restless though no outward sign of it was visible. He was not yet well, he would easily admit, yet he was no longer forced to idleness by weariness or injury but by healers.

The verb _lazy_ was not accurate; he did _nothing_ out of choice, but the fact remained he lay _here_ doing nothing while out _there_ others fought and died in a war none wanted but no one ended. Doing nothing had left him all too much time to think, for his connection to the Force remained uncertain and sporadic, making meditation difficult if not impossible.

The enforced activity of _doing nothing_ reminded him of a time he would prefer not to remember, when the enforcement of such came via chains and inactivity was anticipation and dread for what was to come.

But he had little choice in the matter as yet.

The euphoria of touching the Force as he had that morning had dissipated as had the Force's touch itself. Without it, he felt lost and alone, though not at the level of conscious thought. If he had, he would have tried to dismiss the feeling as without merit, a natural consequence of being deprived of part of his very life's essence. Instead, the feeling had generalized itself into a general malaise that was in such contrast to the earlier exuberance.

Tiredness still clung to him and sleep dragged him a slumber off and on for short periods of time, but other than the lethargy that largely pinned him to his bed, Obi-Wan felt perfectly healthy even if a bit out of sorts. Time no longer went by in a drug-induced blur, only in that monotony of short naps and far longer periods of wakefulness, interspersed with the occasional visit from healers or colleagues.

Equally welcome was another sign of healing – they were feeding him.

Before going to her own rest after her prior night's shift, Bant had insisted on being the one to introduce him to real food, soft and easily digested, only a bite or two at first that predictably upset his stomach. Despite her stated determination to be elsewhere at the time, Obi-Wan was not terribly surprised.

She had rubbed her friend's hands as the Jedi fought the initial nausea with a good-natured reminder that she didn't intend to clean him up a second time within hours, so he had best keep the food down or lie there untidy and messy. The threat and good humor did as intended; Obi-Wan had managed to keep the food down with Bant's promise that when he was eating satisfactorily, the IV's would be removed.

Padawan I'kkara had since come in twice, and twice more Obi-Wan had kept in the few spoonfuls they allowed him with diminishing protest from his stomach. Though his appetite had not yet returned, Obi-Wan accepted the food as he accepted the forced rest, as a necessary part of his recovery. His body was slowly responding to its near-starvation by frequent acceptance of – sometimes-even demands for - small portions of food, his hunger greater than his appetite.

Siri had been one of his first visitors, stopping in between classes a bit later that morning. She stepped into the room; the sight of I'kk at her friend's bedside and the small bowl of food on the table had brought a pleased sparkle to her eyes. She ceremoniously took the spoon from I'kk, and then the chair the padawan had been sitting on as she ushered him from the room.

Wary eyes watched all this, something in her attitude telling Obi-Wan to beware. Few people delighted in unsettling him or pranking him as did Siri, and he didn't like the looks of the smirk she threw his way as she lifted a small spoonful of food to his lips.

"I can feed myself," he protested, shifting uneasily against his pillow. Siri just threw him a "right Kenobi," look he knew from old before deigning to answer.

"With those splints on your hands and still tired from the looks of you? I remember how your hands trembled with lack of sleep and food right after Geonosis. Do you think I'm going to spill something on the Temple's tidiest Jedi – oops. I did _not_ do that on purpose, Kenobi! Put your hand down – do you want to pull that IV out? Here, let me clean that off."

"Siri!" Obi-Wan warned as she leaned forward, memories of a three-year Siri innocently licking off a splash of something-or-other when he was not quite five surfacing. He would put nothing past her when he was fairly well helpless, and some of the outrageous things she would do when she thought one of her friends needed cheering up – well, he remembered all too well the realizations he had come to the prior night.

Something that would be an innocent and playful prank to her just was not something he was ready to deal with.

"Kenobi!" The wide-eyed look and dancing eyes made it clear she had had no such intention, but had flashbacked to that same memory and was now seriously considering reenacting it – and equally clear - rejecting the action. "I haven't – ah, done that since I was three, you horrible man. Remember, that was before I learned that boys were 'icky.' Maybe I still think so."

She tossed her head, the gesture spoiled by a twitch of her lips.

"Nice Madame Nu impression," Obi-Wan teased, for she had perfectly caught the somewhat imperious and haughty tone of the Temple archivist, even if the impression was spoiled somewhat by the tongue Siri now stuck out at him. Outside of the Temple archives Jocasta Nu's attitude softened, but within her domain, few Jedi dared to dispute with her. Even Council members who had actually been to a place that was confirmed not to exist.

With a mischievous smile, Siri wiped his chin with a handy cloth. "Have you ever asked her if Kamino was restored…," a slight pause almost escaped Obi-Wan's attention. "I, ah, that must have been some scar before the bacta. Before you know it, it'll be gone."

Her voice was perfectly calm when she finished speaking and she met his eyes with a smile, but Obi-Wan knew she had been shaken for just a minute. Siri had taken the emotion and let it flow through her, but she had been startled and dismayed to catch a quick glimpse of the jagged and all but healed wound revealed in her attempt to blot a few stray globs that had dripped onto his shoulder.

_I'm sorry_, he wanted to say, but he did not. She would not want to hear it.

He _was_ sorry that she had been reminded of his time with Ventress, but she would hear his sorry as an apology for something that had been out of his control. She would be irritated with his apology for that very reason; he would not upset her further.

It was no doubt one of the uglier wounds, the damage caused by one of the duller blades. The fading raised welt was a long and jagged scar, a mark of a blade that ripped but never had sunk too deep. Bacta had cleared out the lingering infection that had made it tender and swollen.

After tidying him up, Siri chatted of inconsequential things, but her hand crept to overlay his, a gesture she seemed unaware of even making. Even more surprising was his need to not just accept the touch, but return it with his own, for touches had brought only pain for so long. Now it brought reassurance as his thumb caressed the palm above.

That wisp of a touch brought a smile to her eyes, a smile he returned, for surely there was no harm in taking comfort from such. Such gentleness banished the harsh memories of prior touches, healed rather than injured and strengthened rather than weakened. It was a touch not just of two hands, but two hearts, two friends reaching out to each other.

They did not speak of that wound, or others yet unrevealed, but it was on his mind after she left. He had been intensely grateful Siri did not ask about it; perhaps she had seen him avert his own eyes. When would he be strong enough to face what he didn't want to face? Would it help or hinder if his friends were comfortable speaking openly of what was mostly alluded to or avoided?

He could, he would, deal with the outer scars in time, for scars of the body were not new to him. Scars of the mind though – those he wasn't sure he was ever going to be ready to face, no matter the necessity that he do so – and the very fact that he could acknowledge his deliberate avoidance of something he knew was necessary nearly scared him as much as the thought of facing those memories.

For now, thoughts of the mask and the horrors it had him delighting in would be by necessity kept far from his healing mind, for he wanted no answers to the questions he knew demanded them.

Did darkness spawned of the mask linger within? Did the horrors of the mask and its effect on him have anything to do with why the Force was so slow to return to him, and so sporadic when it did?

The worst part of knowing the questions he should be asking was fearing the answers he would find. What darkness lay within?

Was Jedi discipline and Obi-Wan's own stubbornness enough to keep it in check?

Similar questions were being discussed in the Council chambers, though the current focus of the discussion was Anakin Skywalker. The healers and mind healers would make their report on Master Kenobi when they could; until then, any discussion was meaningless and unproductive. Of more immediate concern was his padawan.

What of Anakin Skywalker, the "Chosen One," the "Hero without Fear?"

No one disputed the stress the young man had been under: he had fought bravely and resolutely even while suffering under the weight of his master's absence and the uncertainty of his fate. He had bowed to military necessity and duty over friendship to oversee the withdrawal from Jabiim, a relatively successful evacuation considering the limited capabilities of the evacuation fleet.

The Hero of the Holonet, so dubbed by reporters and thus by extension anointed the People's Hero, had been too long absent from the public eye. Recent battles had not gone well for the Republic; the political machinery of war needed its symbol of courage and daring. The Chancellor, the Senate and the public needed their hero, their reminder of why they fought and who fought on their behalf.

He deserved and had been granted leave; so far choosing to spend it in the Temple as his master recovered in the Healers Ward. This coincided well with the Council's wish to keep "The Negotiator's" return from the dead quiet as yet, but Anakin Skywalker was not the type to spend leave quietly in the Temple.

The Chancellor and the citizens, through the Holonet reporters, already wondered on the young Jedi's whereabouts and his spirits. A tragic hero, one the public could empathize with, one who soldiered resolutely on, doing his duty despite his personal pain. The Council might forbid the padawan to speak of his master, but the padawan was not one who could hide his elation and happiness to have his master back. Jedi serenity and Jedi impassivity were masks Anakin Skywalker was yet unable to don.

What the padawan knew, so would those he spoke with.

There was one solution no one was in favor of; it was not fair to the sole Jedi survivor of a tragic defeat. They could forbid him to leave the Temple.

Alternatively, the Council could cancel his leave and send him back to the field, but they hesitated to even consider the thought. After what master and padawan had suffered, separately yet indisputably in tandem, Obi-Wan might well need his padawan's help to heal, and the padawan might very well need his master as well.

A fear no one wished to even voice was what effect, if any, Obi-Wan's captivity would have on the master and thereby on his padawan – should the Jedi be, possibly, tainted by the dark, should the "Chosen One" even be allowed close proximity until such time as any darkness, involuntarily imposed or not, was confirmed to be absent or purged from the Jedi? Could they allow one who had suffered so greatly to be kept away from his padawan, and could they allow that same padawan to be kept from the one who had suffered? Such seemed cruel and inadvisable.

Such speculation was not brought into formal session; officially such speculation did not exist. Only among certain members of the Council did this speculation even circulate, and then with the greatest of care and quietude. It was a speculation none enjoyed entertaining, the thought repugnant but the thought one that could not be ignored. Duty to the Force, to the Order, even to master and padawan, demanded due consideration.

Oblivious to it all, Obi-Wan Kenobi slowly recuperated and Anakin Skywalker slowly grew restless. Darth Sidious made plans to exploit the circumstances, for the Jedi Council's desire to protect both Jedi could be well made to backfire, for the dark lord of the Sith knew that every move the Jedi made to protect Anakin Skywalker from the dark only pushed him closer to it.

Master Kenobi may not have succumbed to Sith persuasions, but Master Kenobi's ordeal could be made to serve as a tool for the Sith if the man himself could not be made to do so. Delicious irony, if Sith torture techniques ensnared one not even present.

A Sith lord smiled.

Unaware that he was the object of more than one person's interest, Anakin was feeling torn in multiple directions once again.

He wanted to stay at his master's side, but Obi-Wan had spent far more time asleep than awake and a sleeping man wouldn't really miss an absent padawan should that pattern continue. Even if it didn't, now that he was recovering, and seemed in good spirits, even if he spent more time awake, he wouldn't be in need of his padawan's constant attendance either.

He wanted to spend time with his wife. He had too little time with her as it was; now he was home on leave and he was free to spend it as he wished. He wished to spend it as husband to his wife.

He wanted to forget he was a Jedi, a soldier, a hero. He wanted to be a man, free of worry and free of concern, free to be only Anakin Skywalker. Free of expectations and free of responsibilities, free of an Order than denied him the recognition and rank he had earned and more than deserved.

Up until now, the desire to assure himself of his master's well-being had been dominant. As long as the man had lain gaunt and exhausted in the healers ward, the man who had worried himself nearly sick over his fate would not be far from his side.

Though still painfully thin and far from recovered, the Obi-Wan of the early morning had been cheerful and smiling, the lines in his face less pronounced, the skin color good and the eyes clear, no longer muted pools of light half drowned in black shadows. This was his master already in far better physical and mental shape than Anakin could have yet hoped for, one who could tease and be teased as of old. Even if this Obi-Wan was not yet whole, he was well on his way to it.

So with his worry for his master assuaged, his thoughts increasingly turned to the woman who must be worried about her husband's absence and puzzled at his lack of contact. He had never failed to get word to her, one way or another, in between missions and campaigns.

The Holonet was an unsuspecting abettor. As its current favored "hero," Anakin Skywalker's exploits were well publicized, though it had taken an entreaty from the Chancellor himself to keep his actual whereabouts during campaigns secret so as not endanger the young Jedi's life.

It was inevitable that with the frequent if meager feedings, someone was as apt to visit Obi-Wan at that time as another, and this time it was Anakin whose visit again coincided with one of those times.

It was quiet in the Healers Ward, the hallways empty. Recent battle casualties had largely gone to other medical centers, closer to the campaigns. The majority of the patients were young, initiates or padawans with sprains, mild lightsaber burns or the occasional broken limb. A few were the elderly and frail, too ill to reside in the long term care section housing them.

Only a few were, like Obi-Wan, casualties of battle, those others perhaps permanently bed-ridden or in need of more care than the long-term facility was able to handle, bodies and/or minds broken and not apt to recover. Amongst them, Obi-Wan was the lucky one, with a body nearly healed and a mind that would recover given time, attention, and full access to the Force.

A low murmur floated through the open doorway of room 9, too soft to hear the words, only loud enough to identify the speaker as Neille, followed by the soft mewl of Padawan I'kk. If Obi-Wan responded, Anakin did not hear.

The padawan quietly stuck his head in the open doorway to see if his master was awake or asleep, only to see him comfortably reclining upright and eating, the Jedi swallowing without protest or apparent discomfort.

"You're eating!" Anakin proclaimed the obvious as long strides brought him to his master's side. "Wow, that's great."

Absolutely delighted at the sight, and feeling somewhat guilty over his earlier wish to leave Obi-Wan's side to be at Padme's side, Anakin insisted on taking over the job of feeding the Jedi with childish enthusiasm, edging in between I'kk and Neille.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, his eyes imploring Neille to intervene, but Neille only shrugged and stepped aside.

"Open wide, Master. Target locked, watch for incoming." He sat on the edge of the bed and grinned, his hand thrusting forward at full speed. Neille's eyes met Obi-Wan's in sudden understanding, but it was too late.

In Anakin's hand, the spoon transformed into an out of control speeder aiming for Obi-Wan's mouth, the padawan treating his master as if he was a crechling.

Brief alarm flared in Obi-Wan's mind, alarm which he managed to tamp down for his padawan's sake. Nightmares, Siri's spoon-waving and now Anakin's enthusiastic play-acting all were inevitably conspiring against cleanliness, he reluctantly accepted. Anakin had lately had little opportunity or desire to engage in such lighthearted play; Obi-Wan would endure the next few minutes without complaint. Apparently concurring with the master's resigned acceptance regarding the padawan's playfulness, Neille merely sighed and nodded at I'kk to stand back and prepare.

The inevitable came to pass, for between the swooping and fast passes, roughly half the time flying food hit the Jedi's nose or chin rather than making it inside his mouth. Anakin's skill as a pilot did not extend to cutlery, it was clear. Both healer and patient were relieved when the padawan finished and was gently persuaded to leave, leaving Neille and I'kk to clean up the by now messy Jedi with the waiting water and cloth that the healer had correctly foreseen the need to gather.

"Thank the Force," both patient and healer muttered in unison as soon as the padawan was out of earshot, with Obi-Wan half-guiltily wondering if he could persuade the Council to issue an edict that no visitors to the Healers Ward were allowed to feed patients, ever.

At least Obi-Wan would be spared a repeat performance, this day at least. He hoped.

Even before the feeding fiasco had forced his hand, the Jedi had been contemplating how best to ask Anakin to relax and take some time to himself, only to find words had slipped out quite easily after dodging barrel-rolling "speeders" carrying unsecured cargo.

With a clear conscience he had urged the young man to get out of the Temple, to enjoy some of his free time while he was still on leave. The only problem had been securing the padawan's agreement.

It took some cajoling and coaxing to accomplish what both desired and would not admit, Anakin trying hard to hide his relief at being urged to do what he most wished and Obi-Wan trying hard not to display his desire to distance his padawan from still painful memories of Jabiim and its fall, not to mention any future possibility of a repeat performance.

Able to truthfully assure his padawan that he did not lack for company, his good spirits restored and health slowly returning, Anakin had finally been persuaded to accept his master's request.

Obi-Wan's silent sigh was one of relief, both that he would be spared further "help eating" as well as his success in persuading Anakin to take some time, to see friends or tinker with droids, anything that would help his padawan come to terms with the issues that continued to wear on his spirit. Despite outward appearances, the master had easily picked up on his padawan's inner disquiet, for Anakin had in his entire life never been happy as a passive observer. His urge to "do" was behind his insistence on "feeding" his master himself, his unresolved emotions the reason his method of so doing was so unrestrained.

Time away from his master and reminders of Jabiim – the deaths and the defeat - would do his padawan good. Obi-Wan hoped as well that it would make Anakin more receptive to sharing what troubled him; his padawan needed guidance, but Anakin had to be willing to share his experiences for Obi-Wan to help him.

Perhaps, he even had to admit, sharing what each could would be of mutual benefit. He still would not share the actual details of his captivity with Anakin – that was too large a burden to lay on his padawan, but he might be able to face his guilt and, yes, fear and anger, with Anakin's compassionate understanding.

If nothing else, he hoped to guide Anakin into releasing his feelings into the Force, as he would himself. His own sporadic access was insufficient for full release, he had to admit. He hadn't yet fully faced what all he wished most to release; he needed full access to the Force to heal.

Until then, he could only draw temporary relief from its erratic presence. When present, it refreshed and strengthened the spirit rather than wearying the body, its presence no doubt strengthened by the conscious attempts of those Jedi who visited to bolster his own tenuous connection. It was an infusion of light that served only to illuminate the shadows that lingered within, shadows of fear and horror of what had been forced upon him.

The light was not yet strong enough to banish those shadows; the mind was not yet healed enough to face them.

Avoiding those shadows, as Ob-Wan was doing, was not something he normally chose to do. He was avoiding them, consciously and deliberately, he acknowledged, for he wanted the Force at his side to give him the strength he did not have within himself as of yet. On a conscious level, it was a weakness of character that held him back, rather than the weakness of body and mind forced upon him by all that he had endured. Shock was one of the consequences of his captivity, shock shackled him still.

So he stared out the window, a man still bruised in mind and healing in body, as yet unable to move forward and unable as yet to counsel his padawan, a man in need of a purpose and a diversion.

He contemplated begging Yoda or Mace for something to do – review mission reports, help one of the teaching masters, crèche duty, even – something to keep himself occupied and make himself useful. The healers insisted he not exert himself, hence his confinement to the Healers Ward until evaluated by the mind healers.

Footsteps approached, but barely registered. Healers and patients, the hallway was rarely silent.

Perhaps, he Obi-Wan decided, he could visit some of the other patients; he knew several Jedi were recuperating from various injuries and wounds nearby, usually there was at least one or two initiates or padawans who – a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"General Kenobi, sir."

Obi-Wan turned his head towards the door, a smile breaking over his face. Alpha stood there, healthy and strong, apparently fully recovered from his ordeal. Even without his armor he looked formidable, though he hadn't quite regained all the weight he had lost. Dressed as he was, it was clear he was also returning to war, once more to fight.

"I've been released, sir, I'm returning to my unit. I wanted to wish you well and a speedy recovery before I leave."

"Oh, er, yes," Obi-Wan said. He had mixed emotions watching this man – this comrade – leave. "You take care of yourself – if you get yourself into trouble, count on me coming after you."

He hesitated, gathering his thoughts, before adding, "I am honored to have served with you; there are few men I would rather have at my side. Thank you."

As he had hoped, he could see that he had indeed managed to give Alpha the best possible compliment the man could receive. There was so much more the Jedi wanted to say, but they would be words that Obi-Wan Kenobi needed to say; he would far rather give this man – this _friend_ – words that he would rather hear. The Clone trooper would appreciate them more than any heartfelt thanks for sharing his ordeal, for keeping his general's spirits up and for being a staunch friend.

"Sir."

"Alpha." Though he had never been one to stand on military formalities, Obi-Wan sat stiffly upright and brought his hand to his brow in a Holonet perfect salute. Equally formal, Alpha straightened to attention and returned the salute.

"It was an honor to serve with you as well, sir. General – I am pleased you are recovering. The death of a Jedi – of you, sir – would be unacceptable."

"Thank you, Alpha. May the Force go with you."

He lay, watching the empty doorway through which Alpha had left.

Making a sudden decision, Obi-Wan threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, drawing a robe to him and looking for something to cover his feet. He headed for the door, a bit unsteady on his feet, only to reach it at the same time that Neille did.

"Just where do you think you are going, Obi-Wan!"

"Somewhere where I can make myself useful," he answered calmly. "I thought maybe some of the other patients might like a visitor to pass the time, or," his face brightened, "maybe I'll go visit old Master Petras; he must be tired of listening to those other aging

Jedi – what?" He had a sudden feeling he knew what Neille was about to say; the sympathy in his eyes was clear.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, but Master Petras rejoined the Force a few weeks ago. He went peacefully and lived a good long life."

"Oh." It was a soft whisper.

"He asked about you just several days before he died, said you hadn't had the chance to visit your old Galactic History instructor in a long time. His health had become so fragile we didn't have the heart to tell him you were dead and your memorial service long past."

"He was always very kind to me," Obi-Wan said, slumping against the doorway, trying to deal with the sudden grief. Life had not been easy after Melida/Daan: he was on probation, age mates kept their distance and older Jedi had a certain formality in their manner that was more pronounced than usual. Master Petras had openly welcomed him back.

"He believed in me, you know," he said, not protesting when Neille took his arm and guided him back to bed. "When no one else did, he did."

"Yes, he and Tahl both helped Qui-Gon see to the truth of what happened much sooner than your stubborn master would have on his own. Petras, I believe, went so far as to call Qui-Gon a shortsighted, blind fool who failed to follow his own advice of listening to the Living Force."

"And he told me I had a good but impulsive heart I needed to rein in, and that I needed to learn patience; I would have to give Qui-Gon time as well. We both knew how badly I had hurt him; he promised me in time all would be okay, that the heart was stronger than the hurt."

"And he was right," Neille said briskly, though not unkindly, helping Obi-Wan shed the robe and tucking the slippers under the bed. "Now, back into bed and rest."

"I'm tired of resting," Obi-Wan protested, though the news of the old Jedi's death had hit him hard, coming so unexpectedly. Despite declining health, his old instructor still had an agile mind and enjoyed the visits of any of his former pupils when they found time in between missions.

Pulling up a chair, Neille smiled and sat down. "I'll see what I can do. Your midis are slow in recovering, and I'm afraid much in the way of exertion will interfere with that process. You're not going to be back at full strength for some time yet and we don't want you collapsing suddenly on your feet. Your fluid levels are back to normal and your blood chem is nearing normal ranges. Your wounds are healing quite well. Before I tuck you in, I'm just going to check them - do you want to see how well they're looking?"

Without thinking, he had slipped the gown from Obi-Wan's shoulders as he spoke. The touch of hands against his skin surprised the Jedi, coming just as he had closed his eyes.

"No!" The word exploded from Obi-Wan without thought. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me!" Hands…he had learned hands meant pain. He had not yet unlearned that. He shifted back into his pillow, trying to get away from the hands – from the pain that was to come.

"Obi-Wan, it's okay." The Jedi slowly became aware that Neille was lightly holding his shoulders against the pillow with the Force rather than his hands, having belatedly realized what had happened and was now attempting to calm him down. "Breathe, okay? It's me, Neille. I'm just checking your bandages, nothing that will hurt. I'm sorry for startling you."

"Force, what's wrong with me?" Obi-Wan whispered hoarsely, still shaking though the shaking was subsiding, wiping a tear or two from his cheeks.

"Nothing is wrong with you; what is wrong is everything that went on before," the healer was quick to reassure him. "Your reactions are perfectly normal for what you went through. Even for a Jedi, if that worries you. I think it's time to get the mind healers involved now that you're stronger, what do you think? Do you remember meeting Healer Cielan?"

"The bacta room?" Obi-Wan asked. The adrenaline was slowly subsiding, but his body was still on alert even though his mind was now trying to reassert control over it, for it had already assessed the potential for danger and dismissed it. He understood the physical reaction, but it didn't mean he liked it. It meant he was still affected by his experiences and all he wanted was to put it behind him and move on.

Neille nodded.

"She was there monitoring you. Do you remember Anakin was there as well? You were struggling in the bacta until Anakin was able to place some shields around your mind – apparently the color of the bacta triggered some intense nightmares or flashbacks. You had quite an abnormal reaction and it scared us all. Your padawan was understandably rather upset at what he saw."

Fear spiked though him: Anakin had been in his mind. Force, no.

"Wha…what did he see?" _Oh, please Force no, not my hate, my anger…not those thoughts the mask pulled from me._

"You'll have to ask Cielan or Anakin, but I gather you relived Qui-Gon's death, Geonosis, anything associated with the color red. Cielan rather doubted they were actual memories, more like pieces of memory altered and possibly magnified by emotional stress. You were reliving anything that was emotionally traumatic for you."

Obi-Wan's fingers curled so tight into his palm that it hurt. "Was – was Anakin hurt by anything he saw – did I hurt him in any way?" _Does he now know I at first resented him – before I knew him – before I understood what Qui-Gon already knew: that Anakin's training was of far greater importance than a padawan's hurt feelings? Before I released my selfishness and ego into the Force? _

_Does he know some part of me wants to know why he didn't come to rescue me when I needed him? Force help me, those thoughts shame me. Does he know of those thoughts I wish weren't mine, but have to accept as of me, even though I recognize them as unworthy and wrong and wish to release them?_

Neille hastened to reassure him. "Only on your behalf. What really shook him the most, I think, were your tears."

"Tears?"

Obi-Wan looked as if he had braced himself for some horrible revelation; instead he looked so surprised that Neille almost chuckled.

"Tears. You don't remember? It seems it was the only thing you could offer Alpha when you were forced to, ah, watch his torture."

_Without the Force, he was helpless to intervene. Alpha, the sacrificial weapon to kill a Jedi's heart; his salvation would be Obi-Wan's damnation. He had been given the choice of saving his soul or Alpha's life and only the Force itself had ultimately saved both._

"Anakin – saw that? Force, he didn't need to see any of that." Obi-Wan swallowed hard; it was all too easy to imagine what nightmarish flashbacks had plagued him. He didn't want them to plague his apprentice, too.

"You lived what he only saw in bits and pieces – it wasn't pleasant for your padawan, but it was at least easier on him than on you."

"I don't – know about that," the Jedi shook his head. _You do know, though, don't you? Anakin holds onto those things that trouble him – you have never been able to teach him otherwise. Is that inability due to his failure to learn – or yours to teach?_

He reached a hand to his forehead and rubbed away a dull ache. As if gaining strength from now getting noticed, the throbbing in his skull intensified and he winced. _As if I don't have enough to deal with_, he thought petulantly – and immediately felt ashamed. All these revelations seemed to put every nerve on edge, but none of that was an excuse for this kind of self-pitying behavior. He wouldn't tolerate such behavior in his padawan. He wouldn't tolerate it in himself, either.

_Force, what all had Anakin seen? He didn't need to _see_ anything to shield another mind._

Anakin should never have taken advantage of the bond to pry for details that Obi-Wan wasn't ready to share. He always thought he knew better than anyone – tell him not to do something, and he would do it. Tell him how to do something, and he would find another way. Tell him why he should do something, and he would choose to ignore what he did not wish to hear.

The frustration and worry was suddenly all too much for Obi-Wan.

"Blast the boy! Why should I worry about his reaction anyway – it's not like I invited him into my mind!"

"Because he's your padawan and you care about him," Neille said quietly.

"I never invited him to invade my mind," Obi-Wan snapped back, rubbing his forehead in a vain attempt to lessen the pounding. Even his eyeballs were throbbing now.

Neille crossed his arms and said a trifle crossly, "If he hadn't, who knows what might have happened to you. You were 'this close' to being pulled from the tank. The way you were thrashing about, you might have knocked the breath mask loose and half drowned before we got you out. Anakin calmed you down so we could finish the treatment you needed. You should be thanking him. Do you really think he just decided to go on a pleasure trip in your mind? Didn't you hear what I said earlier? Don't you dare say to that boy what you just now said to me."

The verbal slap drained the blood from the Jedi's face as he flinched at Neille's scolding, the illusion of health stripped away to reveal the still bruised mind underneath.

"I didn't know….," Obi-Wan whispered, absolutely horrified at his assumption that Anakin had chosen to force entry into his mind. He had all but accused his padawan of – of forcibly invading his mind when all he had done was try to help his master.

Anakin deserved credit, not condemnation for what he had done.

"Oh, Force." A shaking hand shaded his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look at Neille, knowing the healer's defense of his padawan was entirely justified.

"Now that I've knocked some sense into you, let me knock even more into you," Neille added, his voice softening; gently laying a hand on the Jedi's arm. He paused and moved his hand up to Obi-Wan's forehead and frowned. "Obi-Wan? Headache?" He shook his head, using the Force to soften the waves of tension and disperse them into the Force as Obi-Wan could not.

The pinched look in the Jedi's face gradually smoothed out as his tightly clenched fingers relaxed.

"Better?" At Obi-Wan's shame-faced nod, Neille went on as if he had never interrupted himself, injecting a pain medicine as he spoke. "Your reaction is entirely understandable, but we both know this kind of reaction is out of character for you. Had you had this conversation with your padawan – well, neither of you would have liked it very much – much better for you to get it off your chest to me. Don't look so ashamed, Obi-Wan; I was only a bit harsh so I could get through to you."

"You succeeded admirably," the Jedi groaned, mortified at his words and thoughts. No matter what Neille said about his reaction not being at all unusual or unexpected, this was not appropriate behavior on his part. Layers of false civility were slowly peeling away to reveal a self he did not like; the self he thought himself to be revealed as a mere illusion in the absence of the Force.

"A little too well; I was harsher than I needed to be and I apologize." Neille studied Obi-Wan, rather concerned. "Why don't I see if Cielan is available? I think you need to start working with her – what do you think? I know you want to get back to the real Obi-Wan Kenobi just as much as we want you to, as well."

That Obi-Wan Kenobi probably didn't want to know this Obi-Wan Kenobi. That Obi-Wan Kenobi probably didn't even exist anymore – and never would again.

Right now, this Obi-Wan didn't want to face anyone – the old Obi-Wan or the current one. Unfortunately, there was no way of escaping himself.

"In a while, perhaps. I'm – tired. Can I – can I just be alone?"

Alone. He hadn't – really – wanted to be left alone up until now, and the healers and his friends had seemed to be of the same mind. Now solitude seemed utterly desirable.

So, too, the tears that refused to come.


	46. Building Foundations

_Oh, Padawan, I wish you would __cry_, a Force ghost whispered, aching to comfort his padawan. _Don't be ashamed to cry, never be ashamed._ _Know that my heart cries for you until you can cry for yourself._

"Oh, Master, I wish you were here," Obi-Wan whispered to the air, lying with a hand over his eyes. His chest was tight with sobs that refused to be released and tears that would not be shed. Shame held his tears prisoners.

_I'm here, my Obi-Wan, I just wish you knew that._

"I'm behaving badly, I know. I can almost hear your reprimand, the one I deserve. You would quickly straighten me out. I need to get control of myself – if not for myself, for Anakin. I'm worried about him but how can I help him when I'm like this? He's so much like you in so many ways, but he's still so young. He still has to learn to listen to the Force rather than demand it listen to him. He's a good man and a good Jedi; someday, he will be a great one. Oh, if you only knew him. You'd be proud of _him_, of your legacy."

_Anakin is not my sole legacy, padawan mine. I never gave you cause to believe otherwise, but you are my legacy just as much as Anakin, just as Anakin will be as much your legacy as mine, if not more so. Know as well you always have my pride and my love._

"How do I teach one who thinks he knows all that he needs to know already? I myself have much still to learn, yet Anakin is sure there is little left for him to learn."

_You are doing all that you can; Anakin as yet is not. You are the one with the admittedly difficult task of guiding him to his destiny with no guidance on how best to do so. You have made mistakes along the way, and you will make many more, but you have made no more and no less than anyone else tasked with the "Chosen One" would do. The problem lies not in your teachings, but in the undermining of your lessons by another. _

Wishing for his master's calm advice was meaningless; the dead did not speak. Staring at the ceiling didn't help. Lying with an arm covering his eyes didn't either.

He was even more helpless than he had been in Ventress's chains, for she had merely chained his body. Now the chains imprisoning him were his own fears and doubts, the links woven of guilt and shame.

The man of little emotion was an emotional mess; for once the man dominated the Jedi. He needed the strength of a Jedi, to move forward, to be whole.

One thing he would not do was throw something across the room as he wished to do. Just like not jumping to conclusions, a Jedi did not throw things in a pique of anger or frustration. A Jedi was calm, a Jedi looked to the Force when the answers he needed was not within.

_And when the Force is not there?_

He didn't _wish_ for the Force, for wishing for the Force was pointless: the Force came now not at his need or command, but when it would. He needed the Force to center himself, to be the man and the Jedi he wished to be rather than the man and Jedi he was without it.

So what _did_ a Jedi do when the Force was not there?

He _behaved_ like a Jedi.

He didn't behave like a spoiled brat. So, he didn't like who he had become, or worse, what he had always been. He would just have to be what he wished he was. Try, no. There was no try. Do, or do not. Be, or be not.

Be the Jedi his master would be proud of: be a Jedi who lived in the moment, this moment. He was free, if he chose to be. The choice was his.

He was free of the expectation of pain to come, of hate and anger demanding he give them voice. He was free of the knowledge of what it meant to be alone, what it meant to wait for the interruption of his solitude.

Solitude: the only respite from physical torment; solitude: the pained anticipation of what was to come and thus no reprieve at all. Solitude or lack of: it had determined only whether his mind or his body suffered.

He had allowed himself to listen to his fears to avoid the silence of a not-forgotten past: a silence that had only allowed him to hear his pained breathing and the memories of his and his predecessors screams, his heightened heartbeat of pained anticipation of what would break that solitary exile he was in before Alpha had been returned to his cell.

In listening to his fears, not the silence, he had thought he would find freedom and he had only found another prison.

He would banish those fears, lock them away until he had found the strength to face and accept them. He would live in this moment, for that was the way to heal, to find the strength he would need to banish them for all time.

_Oh, my padawan, that is not the way_, a Force ghost breathed in frustration and understanding both. _Fear is not always to be feared._ _Hurt and pain are not always to be avoided, for they may serve as guides to healing._ _Better to be scared, even if those fears are groundless. Better to be weak, than this false attempt to be strong. _

_Acknowledge your pain, your fear, your weakness because pushing them away only distances yourself from feeling them, and if you never feel them you will never allow them to move through you, to accept and release them. _

Under a ghost's watchful eyes, the Jedi succumbed to exhaustion, both mental and physical. Obi-Wan slept, and neither dreams nor nightmares intruded.

A pleasant voice, one Obi-Wan had heard before, preceded Healer Cielan's entrance into the room. He realized she was not quite as young as he'd first thought; her warm manner and sparkling eyes made her seem younger than her years, but the tinted air of the bacta room had washed the now-apparent gray from her hair.

Bant stood up and greeted the mind healer, patting Obi-Wan's hand as she left. She left a warm afterglow of cheer in the room, for her visit had done much to restore Obi-Wan's equilibrium, along with the nap he had recently awoken from, refreshed and in a much state of mind. The healer acknowledged Bant with a nod as they passed.

"Master Kenobi," Cilan advanced to greet the Jedi, quicksilver eyes warm and kind. "Do you remember me? It's good to see you looking so much better. Do you mind?"

A bit startled at his lack of manners, Obi-Wan waved a hand at the chair. He immediately liked the healer. There was a strength, a toughness in her balanced by a warm and compassionate manner. It reminded the Jedi of some of his earliest instructors, firm hands keeping small initiates in check while never forgetting the exuberance and enthusiasm of such little ones.

For a moment he longed to be young and innocent again, with dreams larger than himself, of righting the wrongs of the galaxy and bringing justice where only injustice reigned.

"You're looking much better than when I saw you before, a state of health vouched for by Neille as well."

"Thank you, I do feel much better." He inclined his head and hesitated as if unsure how or if to speak.

"Is there anything specific that worries you or that you would like to talk about?" Cielan chuckled at his surprised look. "I suppose you thought I would just sit down and tell you what to think or feel, or perhaps you thought that I would demand – politely, of course – that you tell me everything all at once?"

"I didn't know what to expect," he admitted. "I always had my master when I've been – troubled before. I've never needed…been told I had no choice in the matter."

"The twelve wisest Jedi – and you doubt their decision?" The way she quirked her eyebrow at him prompted a return smile.

"It wasn't _all_ twelve."

"Touché. The Council has your best interests at heart though; you can't walk away from what you went through without scars – no Jedi can."

"And how would you know what I walked away from?" He tried to hide his sudden flash of irritation, perhaps touched with, if he was honest with himself, a bit of dread as well. Despite what Cielan, through Anakin or not, may have seen during his apparent panic in the bacta tank, she – they - couldn't know everything.

Everyone presumed they knew what he'd been through, but none of them had been there. They'd all been here, safe, but not one of them had any idea just how bad it had been.

Not a one of them had hung in chains, clothed only in blood. Not one of them had been trapped in a hell only to find the demons clawing at his soul were his own offspring, born and nurtured in darkness; not one of them - he brought himself up short: oh, way to think, Kenobi. _Stop it right this instant!_

All Jedi had to face the darkness within or without; all had to face it and defeat it in their most important trial to even become a knight.

_Did you defeat yours? _

Resolutely, he pushed the doubts away. A Jedi could have no doubts, for doubt blocked a Jedi's ability to feel the Force course through him.

In time, he might be again that same man, confident in his heart and mind that that which was most important to him was no different than the inner core of him; a belief that had been profoundly shaken while in captivity.

That Sith torture mask had traumatized him. Under its influence he had reviled in Alpha's torture, he had exalted in hate and felt strong with rage even as he shrank in horror from what he was becoming – and it shamed him deeply.

It wouldn't be enough to be forgiven his weakness, his hate, by himself, by others, or even by the Force. No, he had to cast hate out of himself, rid himself of its taint, and to banish it, forever, from his being.

As for his current behavior and thoughts, they were unworthy, if less shameful.

_You are a wonderful example of a Jedi! _he scolded himself_. You think they didn't worry?_ _That others don't hurt – many have died._

"Forgive my burst of temper, please." Contrition colored his words. "I have no right to speak to you, anyone, like that."

Shame had brought a faint flush to pale cheeks, but he didn't avoid Cielan's eyes as she studied him. Responsibility was deeply ingrained within him; she imagined he wouldn't shirk it easily, no matter the personal cost whether in guilt or pain.

With responsibility usually came a need for control. He needed now that sense of control more than almost anything else, so Cielan nodded in acceptance of his words as she accepted his apology with a smile. Anything else would be counter-productive at this time. She knew from speaking with other Jedi that Master Kenobi was widely regarded as unfailingly courteous and rarely snappish, and so was probably embarrassed as well as ashamed at his show of temper.

Defiance and temper had almost certainly brought swift punishment at Ventress's hand; understandable feelings he only now felt safe to vent, probably without even realizing why.

More than likely as well, shock was replacing the exhaustion that had overwhelmed nearly all other considerations. The pallor was receding from his skin much as the prior sedatives had been purging from his system. He was already looking much better than the day she had first meet him, but the mental after-affects were now making themselves known as the physical effects receded.

With his padawan's aid, she had gotten a glimpse into the man behind the Jedi. Records and mission reports were mere facts, details of a Jedi's life that only hinted at the emotional residue often following missions. Jinn and Kenobi, then Kenobi and Skywalker, both teams had been on some of the most harrowing missions known to the Order. Interviews with friends and colleagues had hinted at the man behind the reports, but her mission was to find the hidden self and help it give voice.

Master Yoda, to her surprise, had seen deepest into the man's soul, neither the man's padawan nor even his friends had come close. "A bond we share, of trust," the old master had grunted, his tone verging on the affectionate while keeping the same in check.

Trust.

Records told her of Master Kenobi's initial failure to secure a master, the difficulty in establishing a healthy, trusting two-way bond with his master, his break with the Jedi and his return. Master Yoda told her of a promising boy whose potential was hidden under eagerness and insecurity, a boy who accepted guilt as if it were a present and stove to be perfect because only perfection offered the security and acceptance he yearned for.

His friends spoke of a boy who learned to trust in the Force, and eventually in himself, and grew beyond his insecurities into the Jedi they knew: strong, confident and wise. His padawan respected and honored the man but seemed strangely less receptive to his teachings, something Cielan found extremely curious.

Her instincts told her that no matter the personal growth, the acceptance that came with time, that initial insecurity had been tamed but never released. The happy, eager and somewhat quiet child of the crèche was still there deep inside, as was the initiate unsure of his place, as was the serene Jedi master. Layers of self, each a foundation for the next and the honed cruelty of mental and physical torture had ripped straight down through each layer to leave a bit of each exposed and raw.

No wonder the man occasionally lashed out. The wound was deep, perhaps deeper than anyone of them yet knew. It would take Master Kenobi, his friends, and the healers to heal each of the layers, and each layer would no doubt respond in its own unique way.

To allow her to help him heal, Obi-Wan would have to learn to trust her. Trust, so much of what lay ahead would have to be rooted in trust.

Neille and Bant, his padawan and his friends, would support him in the journey; she would be a guide only. Once the ground was set, and that trust established, she would continue what they started.

She would not push Master Kenobi until and unless she judged it necessary, so today would be not a session, but a respite, a promise that recovery was attainable. She knew just what to offer.

"I've seen your medical records and I monitored you in the bacta. I might know more than you think, and my goal is to help you recover. You have to do the work; I'm just your guide – think of me as the human equivalent of the Force for now." Her infectious grin made Obi-Wan grin in turn, though his eyes showed a worry she had not expected.

Fear, false bravado, denial – oh, so many emotions were likely, but _worry_ was relatively low on the list.

"Do you know about the Sith mask?"

"I know only you were subjected to one – how it works or how it affected you I have no idea – unless you share it with me."

"I don't think I'm ready for that." His voice was calm, if low, but his eyes were now unfocused and he had tensed up.

"That's fine…for now. You don't know me well enough to trust me. I'm sure it's difficult –might it be easier to speak to someone you know rather than one you do not?"

For a minute, Cielan thought pure fear showed in his eyes, though he merely shook his head and said, mildly enough, "I don't even want to think about it until the Force is with me as it was this morning. I know I'll have to eventually face – it - but today – today I want just to enjoy this day that has been given to me. I hope you understand."

Cielan understood quite well. A day, free of worries, a day to relax and stretch his limbs was what she had planned; knowing just such a day was what he needed. Though it had been well controlled, he had been rather agitated just at the mention of that mask. She smiled and nodded back, earning a grateful grin in return.

"Hmm. This might be less painless than I anticipated, but I'm not used to…talking about how I feel. It will take time. I'm not one of those Jedi who try to deny emotions, having had Qui-Gon Jinn as a master. I'll admit to them, but I don't display them; I've been trained to release them to the Force, and so trying to find words to express them is rather difficult. Habits of a lifetime are well ingrained."

He wasn't denying the mental scars, which boded well. Sometimes getting a Jedi to even admit to emotional wounds was the biggest battle. The second hardest part was getting one to openly speak of such. What was not spoken tended to fester.

"But now you don't have that release," Cielan nodded, understanding. "You're having trouble accessing the Force, and so of course you're at a loss dealing with inevitable emotions. That's why you snapped at me, the notoriously even-tempered Master Kenobi." Her tone was light to take any possible sting out of the words.

"I only have sporadic access," Obi-Wan admitted. "With full access I would release everything and move forward."

"Perhaps," she agreed; her tone neutral. He sounded so certain. She was less so.

Smiling suddenly, she said, "Neille says you're a bit restless. He's willing to let you wander the Ward a bit, or further if you use a hover chair. In fact, would you like me to take you down to the Room of a Thousand Fountains – I hear it's one of your favorite spots."

"Are you trying to lull me into a sense of false security by taking me to my favorite spot so I'll spill my deepest secrets?" She laughed at his impish grin. "I would love that very much, thank you."

After Obi-Wan was settled in a hover chair, the two Jedi headed off. The shortest way carried them through a short section of the residential wing. Never noisy, the sound of silence was achingly loud. Obi-Wan grew even quieter, if possible, and the Force seemed to swell with a growing sadness that emanated from him, though his presence was muted and barely detectable.

"Is this too much for you too soon?" Cielan asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head and said quite low, "I was just noticing how many black bands there now are. I wonder how many – I wonder what will be left when this war is finally over. I sometimes have to wonder if the price we pay in destruction will be repaid in those we save."

"We will have to leave that determination to the Force, Master Kenobi."

"Of course," he immediately replied, his voice soft but resolute. It was clear that despite everything that troubled him, whatever his doubts, his faith in the Force was unwavering.

"It's just hard to imagine all the waste, all the destruction, and not mourn. I'm not as much of a pragmatist as some think; my master said I sometimes had too much imagination for a Jedi and that's why I worried so much. Still do, according to my padawan."

"As long as you never allow it to rule your actions, there's nothing wrong with a little imagination or a little worry. I suppose right now without the Force it's a little more difficult to deal with, right?"

"Everything's more difficult right now," he said and lapsed into silence, his mouth tightening.

With a finely honed ability to see beyond the obvious, Cielan knew that the Jedi master was mourning the loss of life made so visible even while accepting it. Just as clearly he was admitting personal difficulties with acceptance and release of his own ordeal. The barely noticeable stiffening of his posture and clipped sentence betrayed him as eloquently as any waver in his voice or moisture gleaming in his eyes ever could.

_He's Jedi to the core_, Cielan recognized; half-admiring and half-pitying him, for it was going to make her job much harder. The human core needed tending, but lay buried deep within. That was the part that needed to give voice to its pain; that part was what a Jedi would silence and shield deep within.

"My master taught me to love this place," Obi-Wan said, extending a hand to point out his favorite spot as they entered through the archway. The Room of a Thousand Fountains was renowned for its beauty both to the eyes and ears. Water was always nearby, splashing over stones in the numerous fountains, cascading over the artificial falls that looked as real as any real falls could.

Green grass and purple rootcrop lined the pebbled paths that wove in and around shrubs and trees from many planets. There were no straight lines here, everything was soft and curved, pulsating with a rhythmic harmony that was unified by the pulse of many living things.

To those little attuned to the Living Force, it was relaxing. To those with a high affinity for it, it was communion with the Force itself.

"Qui-Gon Jinn was far more attuned than I'll ever be to the Living Force, though I was drawn here even before my padawan days. Here, one never has to seek the Force; it is always waiting for you. Each day and each year of my life, I feel a deeper connection."

"Do you feel it now?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and his smile was his answer. "It feels quite good to connect to it again, even if for just a moment." His tone was a bit wry, as if poking fun at the relief that flooded him. It didn't matter if the Force was not again his constant companion, as essential to his spirit as air was to breathing, for he felt it _now_ and _knew _once more that it was not forever absent from him even should it again leave him for a time.

In that moment, his fears and his worries were far from his mind, the Force quieting the lashing waves of uncertainty and self-doubt that plagued him in its absence.

He slowly walked around; eyes content and his manner relaxed as Cielan merely sat and watched the Jedi's obvious pleasure and delight. Obi-Wan looked at her once and grinned. She grinned back.

"Yes, I sense you quite clearly in the Force – if you were a felinoid you'd be purring."

Obi-Wan laughed, for it was true, he hadn't felt this complete and whole in a long while. _Enjoy this moment while you can._ He was suddenly optimistic that he might soon find the strength to face and release everything, now that the Force was back with him – if it wasn't again elusive and just out of touch.

"So when do you heal me?" he asked, a sly wink indicating the question wasn't entirely serious.

"Oh, I don't heal you. My job is to help you heal yourself, Master Kenobi. I can help you sort out your feelings and put them into context. It's a slow process, and there are things you probably need to talk about that you can't yet, so we'll start off with the stuff you find easier to face. I thought today we'd just talk a bit, get acquainted. You seem to like this place and the memories of your master – would you like to talk about him?"

He relaxed even further, knowing he wasn't going to be forced to reveal his deepest fears to someone who was, essentially, a stranger. By letting him decide if or what to speak of, the Jedi actually found that he wanted to at least speak of some things, even if the task of unburdening himself was not yet at hand.

He seated himself and lightly clasped his hands in his lap.

"My master was a remarkable Jedi. He never listened to the Force; he felt it. He followed without question whatever it asked of him. No doubts, no hesitation…and he expected no less of his padawan. I believe he often despaired of me and practically every other living Jedi. I would have followed him anywhere even if the Force warned me to caution."

Despite any misgivings from time to time, he _had_ always followed Qui-Gon, for he had always trusted Qui-Gon's connection to the Force above his own, even if he occasionally doubted his master's interpretation. Such was to be expected of a padawan, of course, but he sometimes wondered if even now he would trust his master's instincts above his own.

He smiled a little at the thought, for he had grown into his own man. No, when he heard the Force clearly, he would follow its lead even if Qui-Gon were here to hear it differently. He trusted his own instincts now, when guided by the Force.

Which was why, he thought, he now struggled with uncertainty and doubts. Perhaps such was even to be expected under the circumstances. Just that realization lessened his worry; he was adrift without his anchor, but land was in sight. The Force was gradually returning to him, he would not drown even if currents tried to sweep him out to sea.

He turned his attention back to the healer, who patiently waited at his side for him to resume speaking.

"Qui-Gon was a man of few but well-chosen words and an uncanny ability to live in the moment, almost to the exclusion of all else. Though he could be stern and disciplined, he would abandon anything, even his dignity, at the Force's urging. He lived his life, and no doubt, if death gave him the same opportunity, would live his death with equal abandon. His wisdom came from the heart. I was honored to be his padawan and hoped to have his counsel and friendship after my knighting. Such was not to be."

"You were very close."

"We were," Obi-Wan agreed without hesitation.

_We were_, a Force ghost murmured as well.

"My master was a firm believer in the here and now. What happened in the past is past and what will happen will happen when it will, so the only moment to live in is now. So in a way I feel that I am dishonoring his teachings…by, well, by not putting that experience behind me right away. I would hope that he would understand that I don't – don't have the strength, were he here now."

Even after all these years, Qui-Gon's admonishments lived on, so deeply had he taken his master's wisdom to heart. Not one knight, nor one master, agreed in full with the teachings of one's master. Qui-Gon had discarded much of his own master's teachings, yet Obi-Wan had always felt it hard to shake off the hard-won life experiences that Qui-Gon tried so hard to instill in him.

He followed his own path now, not the path that Qui-Gon would have wished him to follow. It was not a discarding of his lessons, for he respected and honored his master's teachings as best he could. A part of him often longed for his master's counsel and support.

"You think your master would judge you harshly?"

The Jedi's headshake of denial was quick and instinctive, telling the healer he had no doubt on that score; equally obvious, he was not offended at the question.

"Not at all – he would try his best to be supportive, but he, well, I'm afraid he would expect me to quickly put it behind me as the Jedi master I am now supposed to be."

"Do you think he would be correct in that thought?"

The quick smile came again. "'Live in the here and now' – yet I often have an eye to the future and an ear to the past. I know I am not the Jedi he would wish me to be. As much as I respected him, we are – were – quite different in many respects, and I fell short in my connection to the Living Force in his eyes."

_He still has much to learn of the Living Force, but he is capable._ Damning with faint praise indeed, recommending his padawan for the trials standing before the Council, not even hours after advising said padawan of how much more he needed to learn, implying that his apprenticeship would last at least another year or two.

It had stung, those words, that time, yet there had been yet undiscovered truth in them as well.

Qui-Gon had been right, in that at least. Obi-Wan had become far more attuned to the Living Force with the years.

"Did you know my master?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Not well. I, too, admired him. He had a healthy attitude, but a somewhat short-sighted one, I always thought," Cielan said cautiously. "It worked for him with his deep connection to the Living Force; he didn't realize it is not so easy for those more balanced in their perceptions of the Force. What he didn't understand, he tended to dismiss."

Obi-Wan nodded. He had thought the same many a time, though he might have been less blunt in his assessment.

"Would you say he would dismiss your feelings now?"

His mouth opened – and shut as his mind tried to find the honest answer. Finally, he answered a bit hesitantly, "Dismiss, no, but he would counsel me to let it go into the Force and live in the now. One cannot change the past, and one cannot live there. It seems – good counsel at this time."

They sat in companionable silence for a time, the healer, the Jedi, and a Force ghost listening intently who mourned the use of his own words as not a source of comfort, but a source of self-flagellation by the man whose spirit and heart had healed his own so long ago.

_Live in the here and now_: short-sighted and foolish indeed when taken to excess. _Ah, padawan, you learned some lessons too well._

With a sigh, Obi-Wan rubbed his chin and looked around. Here, in this place that meant peace, here today perhaps he could take a step forward and if not speak of all that haunted him, he could at least perhaps speak of the circumstances that led up to his haunting.

Recognizing the sound as the capitulation it was, Cielan stilled herself in the Force as it opened up to the Jedi. No questions, no answers, he needed now only someone to listen and if she could fade into the Force somewhat, he might find it easier.

Pulling the Force around him as a shield against the worst of the memories, Obi-Wan started with a brief recap of Alpha and his arrival on Jabiim and some of the problems they faced.

He spoke haltingly of what Alpha had told him of their capture, their flight to Rattatak, his fever. He had no real memories of those days, just vague impressions and fleeting memories. Cielan listened intently and Obi-Wan was left with the distinct impression that she knew a good part of his story already before he remembered that, of course, she had to have talked to Alpha.

The healer was a good listener, allowing him to speak what bits and pieces he felt capable of. As long as he kept to clinical details and hazy memories he was fine, and words started to spill out rather easily, gathering momentum as he spoke.

He had little difficulty cataloging the majority of his wounds for he had dealt with physical brutality for more years than he could count. He had had bones broken, taken a blaster bolt or two, and taken a few blows in the occasional fistfight.

He had stood over men he'd killed, able to do nothing to save their lives but unwilling to let them die alone, some part of him dying with each one. Each time, the Force had stitched his heart back together.

He had even, once, been mere moments from severing his own leg with his lightsaber, trapped beneath debris and unable to get to his master, bleeding heavily and unconscious - nearby, but not close enough to reach - to staunch Qui-Gon's potential fatal wound. The lightsaber had been in his hand and poised over his thigh, his finger almost ready to activate it, to save both himself and his master, when he heard voices, rescuers nearby, and his thumb had fallen from the switch before the lightsaber fell from his hand.

So speaking of the physical wounds was not difficult – he had learned long ago to compartmentalize physical and emotional wounds into different sections of his mind. He was finding that the lines blurred when he tried to talk about the mental stress of his captivity.

Some of the physical wounds were too closely tied to the emotional pain, the almost dismissive initial thought of the wounds too closely allied with emotional turmoil to allow him to continue.

"Obi-Wan," he had given her permission to call him by his given name, not title, and she laid a hand over his, stopping him from continuing. He looked at her and realized he had been drawing in on himself as his words faltered and slowed. When he looked at his hands, he saw that they were shaking.

"That's enough for today, Obi-Wan," Cielan said. "More than enough, you're pale and almost ill. I've been trying to stop you, but your words were like a river breaching a dam in an unstoppable flood." The Force was flexing and stretching, trying to absorb and dissipate the emotional waves suddenly spilling from the Jedi, but these were not waves of emotion being consciously expelled, but waves from emotion too intense to be held within.

"I am tired," he agreed.

Obi-Wan Kenobi committed himself wholeheartedly when he committed himself and so he had forced himself to go far beyond what he was yet capable of, so quickly, that she had had little chance to stop him. It had taken several pronouncements of his name and a flick of Force to even get his attention, and now she feared a backlash of doubt and pain.

"I had no intention of wearing you out, I'm so sorry." She waited until he nodded, seemingly again in control, but this time she wasn't fooled. His control was a frayed cord ready to snap if the tension was applied just right.

"Neille was going to let you try sleeping normally tonight – no sleeping drugs. We thought if you had nightmares, it might be helpful if you wrote them down – that way we could identify what troubles you the most. Perhaps we should wait another night or two?"

Briefly closing his eyes, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No let's try…." He shook his head at the word "try." He knew better. He drew a deep breath and corrected himself.

"I can't rely on drugs, can I? Let's do it." He just hoped he wouldn't regret those words.


	47. Gifts of the Self

A baby's wail floated unheard down the corridor as Ceilan guided Obi-Wan back to his room. Having gratefully accepted her offer to take over the chair's controls, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

"You're smiling; I thought you were almost asleep," Cielan remarked in surprise, looking over and down at the Jedi who seemed half-asleep in his hover chair; a tiny smile showed otherwise.

Without opening his eyes, Obi-Wan nodded and spoke in a voice heavy with fatigue, yet touched by a certain lightness of spirit.

"I am and I nearly was. I was thinking how truly blessed I was to have Qui-Gon as my master and how grateful I am to have had a chance to speak about him – I don't get many opportunities. My padawan, ah, well, he likes to hear about Qui-Gon Jinn, the 'maverick Jedi,' but he has no interest in some of the small memories I treasure."

The food fight after a long and boring negotiation, for one. He had been sixteen, he thought, no longer a young boy, not quite a young man, one still prone to slip out of as well into the Jedi serenity he would later learn to master.

_He was a bit out of sorts, the tedium and frustration finally edging through his control once they were safely back in their quarters. The two Jedi were trying to find a mutually satisfactory solution, one that would please both parties. Neither party was willing to be pleased, or to be satisfied, if it meant the other party was as well. _

_Patience had never been Obi-Wan's strong suit. He was learning; any Jedi with Qui-Gon Jinn as a master would learn patience the hard way, if not the easy way, but patience was a commodity becoming scarce once away from the bargaining table._

"_They waste our time. They tax our patience," he muttered._

"_The latter is rather easy to do, padawan mine, from the look of you. Patience, young one."_

"_Yes, Master," he said obediently, heaving a deep sigh and closing his eyes in a vain attempt to let his emotions flow into the Force._

_Equally frustrated with the lack of progress, Qui-Gon allowed himself to plop down on the sumptuous couch in their guest quarters in a most undignified manner, legs loosely stretched before him. They had been given a large suite, well stocked with food, drinks and little trays of snack foods. Comfort indeed, but what they had not been given was cooperation._

_A little frown creased the master's face as he studied his padawan, too tired to admonish him, too much in sympathy with his feelings to do so anyway. He leaned forward and took his time selecting a succulent fruit, idly noting the card tucked under the platter: For the Jedi's pleasure. After a moment's reflection, he decided perhaps he should accede to their hosts' hospitality and partake of "pleasure; " and promptly pelted his padawan with an array of fruits and snacks from the tray, scoring a direct hit on Obi-Wan's forehead._

"_Master!"_

_At Obi-Wan's outraged glare, Qui-Gon floated the card before his padawan's eyes. _

"_For the 'Jedi's pleasure'?" _

"_This is my pleasure," was Qui-Gon's all too mild reply, timed to coincide with a splat of ripe fruit, this time on Obi-Wan's nose._

"_What about frivolous use of the Force?" Obi-Wan protested, but when he saw Qui-Gon's grin, the challenge in his eyes to just "live in the moment," the fight was on. When it was over, both Jedi were thoroughly sticky, thoroughly cleansed of frustration, and thoroughly embarrassed at the thought of allowing cleaning droids to see just what a mess two Jedi could make when left alone to enjoy their "pleasures."_

That had been a moment with no cares and no worries, just two humans shedding their Jedi skin and living in the moment. There had been many such moments and Obi-Wan decided he would do well to dust them off and look at them once in a while. Thoughts of his master always soothed him. There were even times he thought, if he imagined hard enough, that a trace of his master's personality lingered in the Force to wrap around him.

"Do you ever get the chance to share those memories – with your friends, at least?"

"No," Obi-Wan admitted, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "Not often. They knew it hurt to speak of him, when I needed to be strong for Anakin. I'd already hurt Anakin's feelings and I was determined never to do so again, even if inadvertently. It was going to be hard enough for him to fit in without dealing with a master whose mind was reeling from the shock of a severed bond, not to mention my, well, grief. I didn't want to be reminded of my pain, only my responsibilities, and they knew that. I imagine they still think so."

"Have you told them that you would like to reminisce once in a while, to speak of your master?"

A snort of laughter greeted that. "I keep too busy trying to keep track of the present as well as the future. My padawan is extraordinarily gifted and it's a constant challenge to keep up with him. I have little time for reminiscing on the past. I honor my master by keeping my focus where it belongs and I honor my padawan by keeping my attention on his training."

"You honor your master by following the Force. Even Qui-Gon Jinn could not disagree with that. Is it any different with your own padawan? Do you think his value is tied to his adherence to your teachings?"

"Force, I hope not!" Obi-Wan shot back, chuckling. At the same time, her question made him wonder: was Anakin not yet the Jedi he should be because his master didn't see the Jedi he actually was? That he wasn't absolutely certain meant he needed to look inside himself, yet he knew one thing with absolute certainty, this sudden doubt had absolutely nothing to do with his perceptions of Anakin's _value_, but with his master's perceptions of his readiness to move ahead.

Anakin had not the knowledge of self to move to knighthood, only the skills, but perhaps if Obi-Wan was not truly seeing the Jedi he was, perhaps he was also not properly helping him along that path.

_Ah, Padawan, have I tried too hard to make you learn what I wished to teach you at the cost of teaching you what you need to learn? _

Cielan must have sensed his shift in mood, for she looked at him quizzically but remained silent as they entered his room.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said as Cielan helped him out of the chair and back into the freshly made bed. He leaned back against the pillow as Cielan drew the covers over him. "Thank you for taking me there, and thanks for listening."

"My pleasure. Just take it easy for the rest of the day and rest," Cielan advised.

"I will."

That at least, was his intent. He soon had a better idea.

* * *

A short nap and a small meal were now behind him. The next few hours stretched before him with no prospect of visitors. Siri was teaching, Council was in session, and Anakin was hopefully taking full advantage of his leave.

The fatigue that lingered was less of the body this time; it was a fatigue of the spirit that weighed on him. Even speaking what little he had of his ordeal had been too much, too soon. He had not spoken much more than he felt capable of, but his words had triggered memories and emotions better left to another time.

The best way to turn focus from oneself was to turn it to others. He was not the only victim of war, not the only one wounded and struggling to heal.

_Help others, and you help yourself. Comfort others, and you comfort yourself. Give of yourself and you also give to yourself. _

He had read that once and it had stuck with him. Simple truths were often found in simple sentences.

He would turn his focus to those in greater need. It was a way of putting reality into context when reality threatened to overwhelm one's coping mechanism. It helped others and it was a way of helping oneself as well.

This time he made it out of his room without being intercepted by Neille, Bant, or any of the padawans who were usually around.

It wasn't far to the long-term care section. Most of the residents were elderly Jedi, but some were victims of the war, wounded forever in body or mind, all Jedi struck down in the prime of their lives. He liked to visit whenever he could, not just to count his blessings at being whole, at his padawan and his close friends being whole, but because they _weren't_ whole and needed to know they were still honored and valued – not forgotten - despite their inability to _be Jedi_.

There were costs associated with war, and Obi-Wan didn't ever want to forget that. War easily numbed one to its horrors. If one wanted never to repeat those horrors, one needed to know the costs up close and personal, for suffering at a distance was suffering distanced from one.

He visited with those still firm in mind if not in body first, as something eased within him. Jayren, as always, he left to last.

Jayren had once been a vigorous, laughing man, a Jedi several years younger than he; yet one who now looked decades older. It was hard to remember the man he had been, for his wounds had left him bedridden and frail, never again the same. The severe head wound he had suffered had left him a man able to remember who he had been, yet unable to be that man once more.

The damage from the brain injury and to his spinal cord meant he would never walk again. His arms and hands were weak but able to function to some degree. His eyes constantly leaked tears no matter his mood; his lips repetitively asked brokenly if someone could just tell him how to laugh again.

That was the obvious, to those who merely looked. To those who _saw_, he was far more, for despite his limitations he was renowned as one of the best scholars of Jedi history; the analytical portion of his brain intact and agile.

"My friend," Obi-Wan said softly, clasping the soft hand in his as he sat down by the Jedi's bedside. Soft, for the calluses of activity had been long worn away.

"Obi-Wan! If anyone can, you can help me. You can help me remember how to laugh, can't you?"

It had been the greeting between them for over a year now.

"I can only help you remember how it sounds, Jayren," he replied as he always did, and as always, Jayren's eyes focused on his intently as if this time would be the miracle, as if Obi-Wan could help him accomplish what he could not on his own.

Obi-Wan dug deep and found a memory; let it bring forth a laugh. Jayren's eyes brightened and for a moment the slow tears stopped: someone had laughed for him.

Obi-Wan grinned at Jayren's obvious delight and patted his hand. He wondered suddenly if anyone else ever laughed for him.

"Laugh again," Jayren suddenly begged. "When you laugh, I can almost remember what it's like."

Fighting back tears, Obi-Wan searched for that memory again, if not even more, and once again laughed. He could feel a touch against his mind, as if Jayren sought to touch the memory, even share it. The Force suddenly swirled between them.

"I almost remember…." Jayren said in wonder, the tears once again dripping from his eyes. "I touched your laughter this time and through you and the Force I almost remember how to laugh for myself."

Considering how erratic Obi-Wan's connection to the Force continued to be, it humbled him how the Force had chosen that moment to respond to a need, in them both, perhaps.

"Siri visits me, you know; when I saw her last, I could see in her eyes her fear that you, too, would have forgotten how to laugh. You almost did, didn't you, but for me, you found it and you shared it, though you're not well either. Thank you, my friend."

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan murmured, "It is you I must thank. Thank you for reminding me that laughter still exists, even if in just our memories. We must not let pain bury it. When I've thought I might drown in self-pity you remind me that there is far more to life than –"

A finger lifted and touched Obi-Wan's lips, denying further words. "You've been badly hurt, Obi-Wan, too, down deep. Your hurt goes deep."

"Healing will follow the hurt, in its own time. I am not the only one hurting, my padawan hurts as well. My healing will come after his."

"So speaks the padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn. There's a stuck note in my mind asking how to laugh again, but I know I never will. There's a stuck note in your mind saying you have to be strong for others, no matter your own need. Put yourself first for once; heal yourself before you try to heal everyone else. Take care of yourself before you take care of others."

"There is no self in the service of the Force," Obi-Wan said softly. "Our vows to our padawans are also vows to the Force, to teach them, to guide them, and to protect them. Anakin is my priority. I intend to do all in my power to guide Anakin through what troubles him."

_I just hope he lets me_, he added silently.

Each step forward towards healing seemed matched by a step backwards in his recovery.

* * *

Obi-Wan had gone to sleep with a heart a bit lighter with the first release, meager though his offering of words to Cielan had been earlier that day. He awoke with a heart and mind again clenched tight against - memories, or was it fears?

"_We're going to let you try to sleep normally, no sleep sedatives to mask any nightmares that might still bother you. Nightmares are your fears and concerns expressing themselves symbolically."_

Faceless fears, nameless fears, forgotten fears –but something had disturbed his sleep.

Something had awoken him with Anakin's name in his mind, even perhaps on his lips.

Fear for Anakin?

A warning, perhaps, that if he didn't quickly come to grips with his experiences, he could not assist Anakin with his own? A fear that he would lead Anakin astray?

A fear arising out of who he might be or become, fear that he was somehow tainted by the mask? Such was a fear he _would_ face, but only with the Force at his side. Fear now that he would push aside to deal with at another time.

Fear for Anakin, surely that was it. Fear that on top of his own burdens, his own pain, his padawan would be burdened with both the fears of and fear for his master. Anakin had not the capacity for acceptance that came with time; Anakin still cared too much and thus hurt too much.

Yet if his fears were _for_ Anakin, what then to make of his own too quick and unjustified anger _at_ him the day prior? Did his anger arise out of fear, or fear from his anger?

He had to be strong enough to at least contain it, whether it be fear or anger. He had to be strong enough to be the master he needed to be - for his padawan. Anakin mattered.

He had to be strong enough, even if meant shielding his fears, his memories, his fear of those memories as well - even from himself - if necessary. Perhaps it was cowardice in not facing what he should; perhaps it was cowardice of letting his padawan know just how much he struggled and how much he chose to forget.

Cowardice. He was afraid to face his fear of inner darkness.

Anakin didn't suspect, did he? Oh, Force, what if his padawan knew! Neille had said he'd forced the bond open and gone into Obi-Wan's mind, into his memories. Justified or not, understandable or not – why oh why had he forced his way in where he could find only hurt, pain and doubts? If a Jedi master struggled with all that, how could a mere padawan?

No being was pure light just as no being was pure darkness, but a Jedi strove to overcome the darkness within him. The mask had loosened the restraint of a lifetime of training to minimize and control – worse, it had led him into a depravity and cruelty far beyond what he thought himself capable of, in either thought or deed.

A man, a Jedi, who could delight in the suffering of others for nothing but self-gratification – a man, a Jedi, who saw suffering and _embraced_ it – the memory of that shamed him horribly.

He needed to protect his padawan from knowing his nightmares, be they phantoms of an injured mind or twisted reality. He needed to protect Anakin from the knowledge of darkness that had threatened to consume his master, for he would have fallen eventually, no matter his devotion to the light. Being a Jedi could not save him, being a Jedi only gave him time and strength to fight back longer than a mere man could. Given enough time, he would have broken, but thank the Force, he hadn't.

But it had been close, uncomfortably close. He could still remember the siren call of hate and rage and how it had permeated his mind, overwhelming his resistance and how repugnance had been slowly battered into acceptance.

Anakin was not yet ready to face such trials of the spirit, had he been, he would be the knight he thought himself ready to be. No matter his skills, no matter how strongly the Force ran through him, Anakin had not the acceptance and self-knowledge to achieve the goal that was otherwise so close.

Jabiim and its aftermath still haunted Anakin, Obi-Wan knew. Jabiim was just one of many trials he would face in his life. Why it so haunted him was less clear; there had been many missions and many battles in his young life, yet few had so affected him.

It was apparent in his face.

Shadows continued to hang in the depths of Anakin's eyes. Even now the clear sapphire were deep polls of indigo due to worry about his master, now recovering and with unreleased memories of Jabiim and those who were forever lost there.

It was apparent in his words, or lack of same.

Normally not at all reticent to speak of his successes and exploits, Anakin was still loath to speak of Jabiim, especially when one considered that Chancellor Palpatine had recently praised him in open Senate session. Mace had mentioned that in passing, hiding his distaste at yet more public commendation heaped on one man when Anakin had merely done his duty, just as any Jedi would have. It was a distaste Obi-Wan shared, for central to the Jedi was duty without thought of acclaim.

Palpatine's friendship with Anakin was one of great benefit to the young man, yet there were undercurrents in their relationship that troubled Obi-Wan. The Chancellor was wont to single out the young Jedi, a tactic that served to occasionally isolate the padawan from his fellow Jedi.

The war had given many individual Jedi a higher public profile than was usual for any member of the Order. Obi-Wan himself was not immune, popularly dubbed "The Negotiator," but it was an epithet he endured stoically, if unenthusiastically.

Anakin unabashedly reveled in his public profile, the "poster boy;" the "Hero With No Fear." Obi-Wan merely tolerated that which he did not like because they were both in the field so much that the adulation that Anakin attracted while on leave was severely minimized, and was therefore of little distraction to the young man.

Now, Anakin needed him, for his cheery hellos were forced each visit. He needed his master's guidance, though his master was in need of guidance himself. Anakin needed what Obi-Wan could not yet give, but he would give what he could and more when he was able.

He just was everlastingly grateful that due to Neille, he would not be giving him an undeserved earful for invading his master's privacy. He still squirmed inwardly at his fit of unjustified anger. Jumping to unwarranted conclusions had never been his way; his actions and reactions always tempered by consideration and forethought.

It would have been a terrible injustice to the young man had he rebuked him for rushing to help his master. It would have been just one more ill-considered action against his padawan, one more failure on his part.

There were so many ways he had failed Anakin as a master; he was determined not to do so again. Many of his failures, he had to admit, were less true failures than failure to forge a true and lasting bond of not just affection but total and complete trust with his padawan.

Though their start had been tentative and uncertain, they had started on the path together, a team. Somehow, some few years into their partnership, adolescent rebellion had driven a wedge between them that Obi-Wan had been unable to overcome, regardless of patience or sternness. His own forms of such had been mild in comparison, luckily, for Qui-Gon would not have tolerated such behavior from his padawan. Allowance was made for the occasional expression of teenage temperament, but outright disrespect or argumentativeness was swiftly quelled with little more than a stern warning or look.

Stern looks, a sharply spoken "padawan" only stirred resentment in his padawan. He had found that these time-honored tactics did not work with Anakin. Trust had withered when it should have grown. Just when Obi-Wan was about at his wit's end things eased between them.

Even now, Obi-Wan didn't know if they both had tired of the constant battles or if they had both grown out of a phase.

Obi-Wan would create an illusion of strength for his padawan's sake, for there was no chance of Anakin unburdening himself to a master struggling with self-doubt. There was little enough chance of that in the first place, and he would not jeopardize even a miniscule chance of actually being able to help his padawan. For too many years Anakin had kept his master at a distance when it came to whatever troubled him.

Despite all his prodigious skill with the Force, his padawan was a young man seemingly unable to make peace with those very gifts.

After his breakdown in his master's arms after Geonosis when discussing his mother's death, Obi-Wan had hoped it was a sign of a more open and stable relationship. Instead, that had been the last time Anakin had openly reached out to his master for emotional comfort. Almost immediately, though, his shields had gone up and he had withdrawn from Obi-Wan, his turmoil once more held within.

That terrible time had at least swept away the last of the contentiousness between the two that had too often characterized Anakin's mid and late teen years.

Obi-Wan didn't think he had been a harsh master – after all, he had patterned his approach on Qui-Gon Jinn's style of firm and uncompromising albeit gentle instruction, but he had been at a loss at how to deal with such an unconventional padawan with so much promise. He had tried leniency, he had tried sternness, yet neither approach had worked.

He himself had eagerly soaked up his own master's lessons, confident that the lessons Qui-Gon was teaching him were lessons worth mastering. Anakin seemed of a mind that the only lessons Obi-Wan had to teach him were only those lessons he personally wished to learn and all others were worthy only of being dismissed or ignored.

It hadn't been just Obi-Wan; many of his teachers had noted the same focus and attention to some subjects while others were brushed aside. Anakin's academic record was full of contradictions: "fails to apply himself," "highly focused and eager," "dismissive of the need to learn the subject."

Praise and criticism were doled out as needed, but like Qui-Gon before him, Obi-Wan preferred to have Anakin find satisfaction and knowledge in a task well done from within. If Anakin gave less than his best, he needed no praise from his master no matter how well the task was done, and if he gave his best, no praise or lack of should diminish his accomplishment. It was how Qui-Gon had trained Obi-Wan; it was how Obi-Wan trained Anakin.

Only now, years too late, did Obi-Wan realize that Anakin had had a core of self-doubt that had needed nourishing. Anakin fairly blossomed under praise, wilted under criticism.

"Train him to be Jedi," Yoda had counseled, and Obi-Wan had. He would not spoil the boy with indulgences, he would tame the ego of a boy who mixed humility and braggadocio in a charming manner, and encourage his natural compassion and kindness.

So many times Obi-Wan had wished to draw on his master's wealth of experience, but that opportunity had been forever denied him with one slash of a lightsaber. He had sometimes wondered if the reason he received no helpful advice from his friends or colleagues was because they were equally mystified by this padawan who conformed to none of the expectations of a "proper" Jedi padawan.

So many of the lessons Anakin needed to learn were lessons Anakin needed to learn for himself. Mastery of self could not be taught, only encouraged. Impatience and impetuosity were subdued and mastered from within; serenity achieved from constant practice and immersion in the Force.

After the trauma of the last few months, serenity was sorely lacking in the padawan, peace of mind an elusive thing for the padawan, just as for the master.

So Obi-Wan would not jeopardize the slightest of chances of Anakin speaking to him of Jabiim, even if it didn't rise to the level of confiding in him. Should it unburden the young Jedi, all the better, but speaking of it could not help but relieve the stress of such a time, even if the worst of the pain was hoarded within.

His head turned restlessly on the pillow. Almost as if Anakin knew he was the subject of his master's thoughts, he appeared. Almost too quick to register, a frown was replaced by a smile.

"Hi, Master, they've finally got you untethered from those IV's, huh?" Words spoken lightly, but Anakin was shielding. He did not take a seat, and Obi-Wan looked at him with a worried frown, giving him time to settle down and speak his mind as he pushed himself upright against the pillows.

"Anakin, sit please, you're wearing me out," he finally commanded when his padawan only paced, thoughts hidden, but in turmoil. Had his freedom not eased him at all?

His apprentice needed him and Obi-Wan's heart ached for his inability to be what Anakin needed him to be. Dared he admit it, he knew that Anakin would not accept what he would give if only he was able, even if it was what his padawan needed and desired.

He would continue to give Anakin his pride and approval. He would offer an illusion of normalcy and health.

"Padawan, Jabiim continues to trouble you. You did well there from what I've heard. I'm proud of you," he stated, once the young man had seated himself and turned questioning eyes on his master. "Speak to me, let me help you sort out everything as I wish I could have done at the time. I'm sorry…I know it was hard – I wish I had been there for you."

"But you weren't," the softly spoken words betrayed Anakin's youth.

"But I wasn't," he agreed.

"Nor was I for you." Anakin's voice betrayed his regrets; he tried to cover it by drawing the blanket up higher over his master. Obi-Wan understood: Anakin had always wanted to save everyone, but he had been unable to save his master from harm. Was it his perceived failures to save others the cause of his distress, this overriding need his padawan's "flaw" that he needed to learn to accept as other Jedi learned to handle his or her own flaws?

Whether he was right or wrong, what Anakin needed more than anything right now was reassurance.

"_Did I do it right, Master? I did, didn't I?"_

"_You did very well indeed, Padawan, but we still need to work on that fifth step. Your timing is off."_

"_Yes, Master."_

_The hopeful, eager eyes of the ten-year-old boy were suddenly downcast. In less than a year together, Obi-Wan already knew that the boy wanted to know only what he did right, never what he did wrong. Anakin could not learn if he did not know the difference and Obi-Wan could not teach if he could not point out the difference._

_Too much praise, or too little, each had consequences good and bad. Bringing balance to the Force was what Qui-Gon had seen for Anakin. Bringing balance to his teaching was what Obi-Wan struggled to find._

Finding the right balance between praise and correction had never been achieved, not then, not now. Praise was earned, never freely given: it was how Qui-Gon had taught Obi-Wan, as countless masters taught countless padawans. Reward was expected to come from within, not without – yet it had never been that way for Anakin Skywalker.

Someday, to be the Jedi he was meant to be, Anakin Skywalker needed to find what he needed within himself, not without. Someday, but today was not that day. Today was a day the master had no wish to worry about Jedi discipline or self-growth. Today was the day he wished to connect to his padawan, to be the master his padawan needed at this moment.

Today was the day for reassurance, for pride, for affection. No more, but no less.

Obi-Wan reached up and cupped his padawan's chin, noting the softness in the blue eyes that so reminded him of his master's eyes, eyes that tried to avoid his but eyes that could not deny his master's wish. "But you were…thoughts of you kept me going. I want to be at your side when you're knighted – a padawan should feel his master's pride."

Anakin had rarely heard so much warmth in that voice; seen so much pride and a hint of understanding shine through the blue gray eyes that regarded him so steadily.

"I feel it, Master, I do," he said fervently. No regrets shaded his master's voice, no hint of sadness, yet Obi-Wan had been knighted without his own master at his side, knighted just hours after his master's death, knighted without ceremony.

On his knighting, what had Obi-Wan felt? Certainly no real joy: how could he be joyous when he was filled with sorrow; how could he celebrate in the midst of mourning? He had felt guilt for not being at his master's side and guilt for letting anger guide his fight against the Sith. Unworthy, though he had fought free of anger and hate, to let light replace dark; his trial of character.

He had been bereft of a master's pride in his accomplishment. Sorrow and guilt predominated, thinking back. Hadn't he heard his master's anguish spilling out in the bacta tank – his thought that he had failed his own master, his plea for his master's affections, even forgiveness?

How could he have once thought Obi-Wan was a cold, unemotional man, all but immune to life's joys and sorrows? A rational man, devoted to duty, fiercely devoted to the Force – but a man, nonetheless, with doubts, uncertainties and joy underneath the serene acceptance that total faith in the Force gave. Should that faith be now wavering, it was faith in himself, never in the Force.

He yearned to offer that man something in return for all that he had given, and knew now that he had the perfect gift, a memory forgotten and now restored.

Anakin's hand reached up to cover Obi-Wan's as he offered that memory to comfort him, even if none had been requested.

"I never told you that Qui-Gon spoke of you on Tatooine, did I?" The surprise on Obi-Wan's face almost made Anakin falter. He should have spoken this years ago, but he had never really thought of it or thought it necessary. Now Anakin understood how it would have soothed his master to have heard this long before now.

"He talked of you more than once, and even as a child I was jealous of you, he seemed so proud. I wanted him to speak of me in that same way, have that same look in his eye when he spoke my name. He told mom that you would be a knight far too soon…that he had to let you go, but that he would miss you and wasn't quite ready to let you go."

Were those tears in his master's yes? Why oh why had he never once thought of how Obi-Wan felt all those years ago? Qui-Gon had never wanted to hurt either one of them, but both of them had been hurt just the same. Somehow Anakin had persuaded himself otherwise.

Obi-Wan had swallowed his pride and his hurt; he had reached out to Anakin and done his very best and given his all for all these many years, and how had he been repaid? With indifferent attentiveness to his lessons, with reckless disregard of instructions at times, with throwing in Obi-Wan's face that his power was fast being outstripped by his own student.

Even his grief and worry for Obi-Wan's absence had been as much as for himself as for his master.

Obi-Wan deserved so much more, a padawan who appreciated who he was, rather than who he was not. Right then and there Anakin determined he was never going to disparage Obi-Wan ever again, but accept him as the man he was.

"Thank you, Padawan." Obi-Wan swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat and smiled, not even aware he brushed a tear away. "Know I shall feel the same when you are knighted."

"You still miss him, don't you? I wish Qui-Gon were here now – he would know how to make you feel better. I just make you worry, don't I? I see your eyes when you look at me."

"Padawan!" Obi-Wan levered himself into a sitting position, surprise and dismay creasing his face. "Your presence does make me feel better. My worry is not for you, but for what you have faced and will no doubt face again. I worry that you might face Ventress; I worry that I might lose you, or find myself in a vigil over your bedside. Yes, I worry for you, but even so, I feel relief and comfort with you at my side."

"You never want me in here when the healers check your dressings…," Anakin trailed off uncertainly.

The Jedi tried to restrain a soft sigh; how he could explain in a way that Anakin would understand? He just knew it was better for Anakin as well as for himself: he was not ready to deal with the inevitable questions that would follow or the pain in his padawan's eyes at the visible evidence of what had been done to him. Anakin would ask questions that he just wasn't prepared to answer.

"I don't," Obi-Wan agreed calmly. "It's hard to see the visible reminders of what she did to me when all I want to do is put it behind me and forget it – but I can't, not when I'm forced to deal with it over and over. I don't have any choice; I have to face the scars every day. You don't. You saw once; I don't need you to see again. Once was enough. You would only be upset, and there's no need for that."

He hadn't yet actually dared to look at his wounds. He knew they were there. Each time a healer changed a bandage or checked for infection, he was reminded all over again of what was there. No, he didn't need to see them; he felt them in the itch of healing skin, the tingle of a nerve and the ache of bones once broken.

"I'm your padawan," Anakin reminded his master, a bit unhappily. "What happens to one of us happens to us both."

The hurt in his padawan's eyes stung Obi-Wan. His hurt would be worse, though, should Anakin truly comprehend everything his master went through. He couldn't do that to his padawan: see the pain, the sadness and unfortunately, the anger.

He reached out, tightly clasped Anakin's hand in his; doing his best to reassure the young man that it was for the best, for them both.

"Yes, but not all things need to be shared. Some things are best left unshared – by not knowing; you are untouched and can be a source of strength I can draw on. I will need that strength when I falter."

His worry would only increase tenfold if Anakin ever found out all the details. Obi-Wan still struggled with the memories of dark thoughts that had never had the chance to be translated into action; the far younger and more volatile Jedi might find it even harder to restrain his emotion. He had already come close on Riflor.

He would not put either of them through that again.

"Anything I have is yours, Master." Anakin still didn't understand, not entirely. He didn't need to understand; he only needed to understand that his master admitted to needing him, even if not at the moment. If Obi-Wan needed his strength, lend his strength he would.

Padme was right. Somehow it seemed his wife understood her husband's master than the padawan himself; perhaps distance allowed her to see more clearly than one who was a constant companion.

Siri was right. She had known Obi-Wan when he was young and looking up to someone; she knew him now when he was older and looking after someone.

Perhaps Obi-Wan was right. Sometimes a person just needed another person to stand beside him. Obi-Wan drew strength from those around him, not from disbursing his weakness or pain to those around him.

If he could help at all, he would do so, in any way Obi-Wan allowed, for clearly he had not found peace with his memories as yet. What was important was that his master admitted to needing his help, in whatever manner he deemed best.

If his master needed him ignorant to best help him, ignorant he would remain. He just wondered if the picture his imagination painted was worse than the reality of what he already knew. He certainly hoped so.

Force help Ventress if he ever found out the truth.


	48. A New Friend

The memory of Anakin's hand warm over his as he offered up a long ago memory stayed with Obi-Wan for a long time, long after his padawan had left. It awoke dormant hope to battle concern and fear: hope that the old Anakin was still present within his padawan. The boy who gave freely and delighted at others' happiness had resurfaced, suffused with quiet joy nearly equal to Obi-Wan's own, at hearing Qui-Gon's long-ago words given life and voice in the here and now.

Even now, he smiled as he brushed away another tear, for it seemed that Anakin had given him Qui-Gon again, given him Obi-Wan's Master and his Master's Pride. It was his memory now, relinquished by the padawan to the master to whom it belonged, the final words there had been no time to share before a bond had been so irretrievably shattered.

Qui-Gon's words, Anakin's gift - now Obi-Wan's treasure and the farewell of sorts that he had always yearned for in a place buried so deep he hadn't even known it still existed.

Somehow in the giving and acceptance of that gift, it seemed master and padawan had begun to bridge some of the distance separating them. As long as Anakin retained that inner boy, his fears for Anakin were surely overstated; the product of a master who knew his padawan had gifts far beyond his own. Though he still didn't hold with a cult of personality, someday the name of Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Master, would be equally as revered as that of Master Yoda and Master Windu, all destined to be known as amongst the greatest Jedi of all time.

His fears should not be for Anakin, but for himself: that Anakin's master was up to the task of guiding such an enormously talented and compassionate Jedi into the fullness of self that awaited.

Into the silence of his reflections, a sound intruded. Something tugged at him, something he should do. A baby's wail came again. His eyes snapped open. Children this young were not left unattended, in distress, either in the crèche or pediatric section of the Healers Ward. Jedi left their childhood behind quite young, but until a child became an initiate, they were encouraged to be children within certain restraints and were treated with care and affection by their crèche masters. To do otherwise hindered a child's development, it had been learned long ago, regardless of species.

Again the cry came. Obi-Wan frowned. Either the child was alone – highly unlikely – or in deep distress, unable to be consoled by a healer. In any case, the cry tore at his heart and demanded his attention; he realized the cries had been hovering at the edge of his awareness for some time.

He swung his legs out of bed and stood, intending to walk where he was beckoned, but his ever-present weariness chose that time to surface once again, no doubt a result of overdoing his wandering in the Room of a Thousand Fountains the day before. Instead, he aimed for the hover chair in the corner. He carefully maneuvered down the hallway and around the bend to Pediatrics, the baby's wail guiding him as surely as the Force itself.

The Peds Ward seemed unusually busy today; he could see healers clustered down at the Reception area. He turned aside before getting that far, barely noticing the bright colors splashing the walls at a child's height, prompting a rather more absent smile than usual.

In a cheery room holding several infants and toddlers, one in particular was distinctly unhappy and not at all shy about making it known. Some of the other young ones were starting to echo the cries. A nursery of babies was about to erupt in audible chaos, but not if Obi-Wan could help it.

"Hush now, little one, what's the matter?" Obi-Wan asked gently, reaching in through the slats of the crib to touch the child's arm. _Perhaps six, eight months old_? Another cry, almost a hiccup, tore through the air. "That bad?"

A quick review of the chart indicated no medical reason not to reach into the crib and lift the child into his arms, so he did. Settling back in his chair and tucking the blanket around the small body, he looked down at the contorted face and smiled as the small body shook and quivered with the baby's cries.

"You remind me of someone, oh, I know. Don't tell him I said so, but you look like I imagine Master Windu would if he had a temper tantrum. It's the hair thing, only you have some and he doesn't. Have you met Master Yoda yet? I suppose not, you wouldn't be crying if you had. He makes all the young ones laugh, not cry. It's not until one gets older that one finds out why he carries that gimer stick of his."

Footsteps indicated the arrival of another adult. Expecting a padawan, Obi-Wan looked up to see a healer hurrying in and stopping short with a sigh of relief.

"Who – oh, Master Kenobi, it's you," the healer said, entering the room. "If it's not Master Yoda or the crèche-masters, it's you checking on the new arrivals or sick little ones. Poor little thing, it developed a bit of a fever on the way here and its first introduction to the Temple is to the Healers Ward. Let's hope it's the first and last time, other than inoculations, for him."

"Indeed, Healer Ran'dalla. He's been crying for quite a while, I think, he's quite red in the face." His tone was merely inquiring; in fact he wasn't even looking at the healer as he rocked the small child.

"Marla has been trying to soothe him, but he wouldn't be soothed. She must just have stepped out for a moment. Even with the staffing we have in Peds, sometimes it's hard to be everywhere at once, especially when a group of initiates suddenly come in complaining of upset tummies."

"Oh?" He looked up, curious. "Anything serious?"

"Not at all; turns out of one of the little mischief-makers decided to 'inform' the others that a new food the crèche-master had introduced was some exotic and somewhat poisonous insect. Who knew initiates knew anything about food poisoning, but they were all convinced they were dying."

Having fallen prey to such a claim himself when young – it had been one of Bruck Chun's earliest attempts to unsettle not just Obi-Wan that time, but the entire crèche – Obi-Wan could only laugh.

"Thank you for coming in to check on the little ones, Master Kenobi. Here, I'll take little Ian. He seems to be quieting down a bit finally."

"That's okay, if you don't mind I'd like to stay here for awhile. Little Ian seems a bit happier now, and I have nothing else to occupy my time." Obi-Wan leaned back and shifted Ian to lie comfortably in his lap. "Is that okay with you, little Ian?"

A small hand fisted in Ian's mouth as the child stared up at the bearded face above.

"I'll take that as an okay. Well, little one, you've had quite an introduction to the Jedi, but this is as bad as it gets." He deliberately winked at the healer, who pretended to be shocked at the suggestion. Ian hiccupped and squirmed in the Jedi's arms.

"When you get to the crèche, you'll have companions, and as you get older, friends. The Jedi are your family now, and despite what many think, the Jedi truly do care for and about each other. We are not bound by blood, but by ties equally valid and equally compelling and if we're not overly demonstrative or affectionate, it is just our way. The Force has chosen you, and we are here to help you nurture your natural talent."

A small gurgle and yawn greeted this little speech.

"Ah, you're getting sleepy, little one? Just like my padawan. I speak, instead of listening he falls asleep or turns his attention elsewhere. He does not suck his thumb as you wish to do – oh, it's my finger you want to suck? You don't have teeth yet, do you? Well, okay then."

"Well, here you are, Obi-Wan," Neille said, grinning as he came in search of his patient. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "I hope you realize the kid is too young to consider for your second padawan."

"He cries, he yawns at my speeches and he ignores me at will – I think he has the whole padawan thing down already," Obi-Wan said in his driest tone. Ian stared at the face above his and a line of drool slid out of his mouth. Amused, Obi-Wan took a towel and blotted the baby's chin.

"You even have the drooling down as well. Don't tell anyone, but Anakin used to drool in his sleep. When he hit adolescence, he drooled awake over half the females, though truth be told, I think all of them drooled over him. Quite unbecoming, I thought, for a Jedi. You stare – why, you think I was jealous? Not at all, young Ian. I had a mad crush on Master Yaddle, but she wasn't the type of Jedi one actually drooled over. I admired her very much; I did, but drool over – no."

Obi-Wan stared severely at Neille who tried to hide a snicker at the thought of a young Kenobi drooling over a small, green Jedi with large ears.

Master Yaddle had always been a favorite of the crechlings and she had never hidden her fondness for all the young ones. The entire Temple had mourned her death just a few years back, for each and every Jedi with the exception of Master Yoda had been a crechling infatuated with Master Yaddle.

By now little Ian, who had seemed inconsolable, was staring contentedly at the Jedi and waving a small fist in the air. Not so little Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was just as contentedly looking back at the young one.

"Let's see if this will help calm you, Ian – oh!" A voice floated down the hall as a young padawan skidded to a stop at the sight of three adults and one now-cooing child.

"It seems Master Kenobi was able to accomplish what the rest of us could not," Healer Ran'dalla was quick to calm the flustered padawan.

"I tried to pick him up, but he cried even harder," Marla stated, eyes wide at the sight of the distinguished Council member cradling the child as if he'd been doing the same for years.

"As he initially did with me," Obi-Wan reassured her. "But once he was settled, I think the sound of a heartbeat soothed him. Right, Ian? You miss your mother, do you? Well, you'll have several crèche-masters looking after you with just as much affection lavished on you."

A little cough pulled his eyes upwards.

"Actually, Master Kenobi, little Ian was relinquished to the Court's jurisdiction when his mother terminated her parental rights. She was just a girl herself and unable to care for a little one, in fact, I don't think she wanted him at all. From what I understand, she didn't even know who Ian's father was; it could have been anyone of – well – the clients where'd she been forced to work. It's the usual sordid story. At fifteen she had few skills to support herself."

There was a moment's silence, broken only by the padawan's gasp, for the Jedi had not the power, nor always the jurisdiction, to help all those in need. It would take more than the Jedi Order to right the wrongs of the galaxy; it took the will of the governments and the citizens as well.

"Oh, dear Force." Marla turned white at the implications. "Yes, Master, I know. Absolute confidentiality; I'm not to share this, I just – poor thing."

"She cared enough to at least give Ian up for what she must have hoped was a better life than she knew," Obi-Wan said, reassuring the padawan. On some planets, abandoning an unwanted child was the norm, and doomed the majority to an early death. On all planets, such could still happen, even if alternatives were provided.

Looking at the healer, he asked, "What of the mother? Did the Court put her in a foster home or help in any way?"

"We have no access to that information, Master Kenobi, I'm sorry. We were just called to pick up the child a few days ago when his midi test was administered."

"Well, Ian, it seems you and I have something in common, don't we?" Obi-Wan looked down at the little face and smiled.

Neille looked at the mystified padawan and explained, "Master Kenobi was abandoned as well, not far from the Temple. Luckily, Master Yoda sensed him before exposure to the elements killed him. He was skinny and starving. A note was pinned to his blanket – a rather thin and worn one, I understand – with his name and a plea to look after him."

Obi-Wan nodded at the padawan's surprise. The Jedi were the only family he knew, so the story of his being found had no emotional resonance with him. It wasn't a secret, but few Jedi knew the story. Most Jedi' origins and history were equally as shrouded in silence, for there was little interest in a period of their lives they didn't remember and that had no bearing on the life they now led.

"Did the Order trace your family?" Marla asked curious. "I mean, permission is required for the Order to take in a child."

"I don't know. The Order can take legal custody of any Force-sensitive child abandoned without claim after six months. One way or the other, I remained here." Obi-Wan shrugged.

"My family is the Jedi; so it will be with Ian, here. I wonder if his earlier history has given him a sense of abandonment and instability. Perhaps now he just wants to hear a heart beating under his ears; most infants respond well to being held and talked to. Right, Ian?" Obi-Wan tickled the little chin and started to hum under his breath as Ian's eyes closed and the small body relaxed in the crook of the Jedi's arm.

"I'm sure you healers have other patients to see to; little Ian, the others and I are fine here. Go away now, go on, leave us to get acquainted." He tried to shoo the healers away.

"Don't sing to them," Neille warned, smirking. "They're finally quiet."

"Sing? I was thinking of no such thing." Obi-Wan frowned. Once he was sure they were well away, he sang a lullaby, then another, then another under his breath. Sing, indeed. Council members didn't sing, at least out loud.

When the healers next looked in, Obi-Wan was asleep in his chair with young Ian just as asleep in his arms. Even the other children were asleep.

"He sang all of them to sleep," Neille remarked, smiling at the sight and explaining to Marla, "He's actually got quite a nice voice, but he never sings except to the crechlings. Says he doesn't have the time to sing. I suspect it's because Anakin tries to sing along with him and that boy has no voice. Speaking of whom," he looked at his beeping comlink and answered it, "Your master is down in the nursery. Come join us, Anakin."

Just then Ian let out a wail and started crying again. Before one of the healers could take the child from the Jedi's arms, Obi-Wan blinked and woke up.

"You're a smelly boy, Ian, that you are," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Let's get you changed - ." For a moment his face froze, remembering the early stages of his captivity when getting free of his smelly and stiff clothing was an unrealized desire. Ventress had stripped him of them shortly enough, then attempted to strip his sanity and soul from him as well. Sometimes he wondered if she had succeeded, at least in some small degree. It was a constant fear that surfaced from time to time.

"No, no, let me," he waved off the healers, well aware of the concerned looks thrown his way at his moment's hesitation. Releasing a deep breath as unobtrusively as possible, he got to work. He didn't want to alarm any of them over what was, after all, just a memory of something so much less alarming than any of the other memories he harbored deep within.

"There you are," Anakin strode in, a big grin on his face. He stared in open amusement and amazement at the sight of Obi-Wan's fingers deftly diapering a young child in his lap.

"You never talked to me like that," he accused gently. Obi-Wan looked up and merely smiled.

"You have a desire to be called a stinky butt? I never had to diaper you, either, but remember when I took you as my padawan, it was to teach you. I'm not this little one's teacher, so I don't have to behave like one. To him I'm only a friend; to you I'm master as well as friend." He finished fastening the diaper and held Ian up facing Anakin.

"Ian, this is my padawan Anakin, the one I told you about who doesn't suck his thumb. When you get older I'm sure you'll hear lots of great things about him, though I daresay from him rather than from me. I daren't inflate his ego because I'm sure if I did, he would never listen to me. Anakin, this is Ian. By the time you're a knight, he might be old enough to be your padawan. Until then, you could learn from him – he doesn't talk back to me, he merely drools."

"But does he obey?" Anakin asked, a bit of a silly grin at his face at Obi-Wan's deft sidestepping of an actual unsolicited compliment, yet what was _not said_ was a compliment all the same.

"Babies have their own schedule. Obedience is for the future, unless one is already a padawan." He looked at Anakin for the longest time, and sadly shook his head. "So they told me. I have yet to believe it."


	49. Heart Chords

"By the way you've been gallivanting around the Ward visiting every patient, Neille says you're well enough to be released to limited Temple duty. Limited, you understand; no undue exertion." Bant stabbed a finger towards her friend's face, making sure he understood her definition of "exertion" and making it equally clear she was not in full agreement with Neille on this.

When Bant was riled like this, Obi-Wan kept his mouth shut. For one thing, it amused him to see his normally sweet-natured friend scolding him, for it merely indicated she was worried. For another, once she made her point, she calmed down quickly.

"Go rest in your own quarters for a while, then you can go to the next Council session. In fact, they want you to attend. Personally I think Yoda mind-tricked Neille into letting you out of here because I don't think you're ready and neither does Cielan. In your state of mind you're apt to do your padawan more harm than good if you blow up again. No wonder he's still a padawan the way you treat him at times."

Few things surprised the Jedi, but that did.

Some of his own doubts must have leaked through to his friends, for Bant would normally cushion such words in softer tones should she deem the words necessary. They sounded more like words he had spoken to himself: was he up to the task of guiding one of the most gifted Jedi in centuries? He was tired if he was leaking self-doubts and concerns. Maybe after session he would ask Master Yoda if they could speak of Obi-Wan's new doubts over his training methods.

Perhaps the entire Temple shared his doubts, but hadn't wished to interfere with the master-padawan relationship. Such was just not done.

_But I've asked for guidance – I've asked advice!_

He had no wish to fail Anakin, no wish to do less than his best, and a wish to do all that he could. Do or do not, succeed or fail, there were no half-successes and no half-complete tasks.

The look on Bant's softened as she caught his look. "Oh, Obi, what am I doing to do with you? I don't know if any Jedi could teach Anakin any better than you are doing; I just sometimes wonder if he needs something none of us can offer. You have to admit he's not the usual padawan and never has been. I worry about him and now I worry about you, and because of that, I worry about you both."

Impulsively, she hugged him then quickly let him go.

Straightening his clothing, she sent him on his way with a look that said he'd better walk to his quarters and arrive in one piece, or she would haul him right back into the Healers Ward and lambaste Neille for releasing him.

"I'll be fine, I've been on my feet for the last several days," he reassured her.

It felt wonderful to be back in his quarters. Before he took a shower and cleaned the lingering smell of antiseptic and bacta from him, he comm'd Yoda to set up a time to discuss his padawan's training.

"Concerns we share, Obi-Wan," Yoda said cryptically. "Unmet are some of your padawan's needs and concerned the Council has been. Now after your imprisonment and all that you were forced to endure – yes, discussion is in order. Discuss this we will. In two hours time we will see you."

Relieved that perhaps Anakin's needs might soon be better met by a master with a better grasp of both the lessons necessary and a better method of teaching them, Obi-Wan took a short nap before indulging in a long shower.

Freshly dressed in Jedi tunics, Obi-Wan traced the route from his quarters to the Council chamber on foot. Though a Council member a number of months now, he was more often present via hologram than in person, so each time he walked there enroute to session it still struck him as surreal.

That he was on the Council at all still amused and bemused him. Council members were Jedi like Yoda and Mace Windu, Jedi masters he had looked up to for years never once expecting to sit amongst them. Natural humility did not mean he was unaware of his strengths and capabilities; natural humility meant he felt no more deserving than any other of a thousand other equally capable Jedi.

He looked forward to today's session, for attendance meant another step towards being whole. Today, as well, might be a day to learn how to be a better teacher to his padawan.

The doors to the Council chambers swung wide and as he had so many times before, he stepped through them, punctual to the minute. Most of his fellow Council members were present, but also present was his padawan, standing looking out the high windows. His mind was shut to his master, far more shielded even than normal.

Obi-Wan hid his frown, but Anakin had been laughing and cheerful when he had last seen him. What had happened to his padawan in so short a time – and why was he here?

"Master Kenobi," Yoda acknowledged, but as he moved towards his seat, Mace put out a hand to forestall him.

"We actually started session early as you were the subject of our deliberations today, it is appropriate you stand in the center position facing the Council."

"Of course." The confusion he felt was not betrayed in his voice.

"Why is my padawan present?" he asked. This time, he allowed a trace of his confusion to show. He glanced at Anakin, but there was no answer there to be found; only more questions, for Anakin had not moved to the padawan position a step behind and to the side.

The young man in question had not moved, stood as still as a statue, yet his master could read the tension in the way he held himself still. "We have no mission to report on."

His fellow Council members – friends and colleagues – regarded him gravely, and Obi-Wan felt just a bit uneasy, as if he were a misbehaving padawan whose behavior was to be judged and found lacking.

"We think it best that Padawan Skywalker be assigned to another master, Obi-Wan. Your allegiance to the Force is in doubt and we dare not have Padawan Skywalker corrupted. You have not just been touched by, but immersed in the dark; your thoughts of revenge and hate are all too clear to us. The 'Chosen One' cannot be allowed to be tainted by the dark, by you, Master Kenobi. From this moment on you are forbidden to have any contact with your former padawan."

In too much shock to say anything, Obi-Wan stood with head bowed before the Council. He could not offer any words contrary to their judgment. They were right: he had hated and he had felt anger. They were trying to protect Anakin, he understood, but – they were taking his padawan away.

It was too much for his mind to comprehend; after all the suffering he had endured, the struggle to move beyond it, his own colleagues were now punishing him for the punishment Ventress had heaped on him.

He swallowed, feeling the room reel around him as his equilibrium shifted along with this new reality. This had to be another dream, another nightmare.

He stretched out a hand to his padawan, trying to maintain his dignity even as his world shattered around him, even as he relinquished the boy he had raised and the boy he loved.

"Anakin…"

To his horror, he could barely say his padawan's name. He wanted, needed to say so much more: wanted to say sorry, wanted to say farewell, but Anakin still stood turned away from him, not even willing to look his master in the eye. He spoke even if he would not look at him, words of harsh reality and finality.

"You are no master of mine and I will not – cannot – hear your words. I cannot be corrupted by your darkness, not if I am to fulfill my destiny."

"I have forgiven her." Forgiveness could not come from dark, only from light. "I have forgiven her."

It was the only defense he could – or would – offer. It was insufficient. The Council would not be swayed by words.

"Not in the true hidden depths of your heart. We here forgive you, Obi-Wan, for you were driven to the edge. It was not your wish, nor ours, but we cannot ignore what was done, no matter the reason. What is one Jedi against the greater good? Anakin Skywalker is the 'Chosen One' and keeping him untainted is the greater good. We are sorry."

Once Mace finished speaking, Yoda stepped forward. Grave eyes met Obi-Wan's, eyes that acknowledged the unspoken pain.

"The bond between you, broken it must be, broken it now is," Yoda said in the tone that allowed no dissent. The link between master and padawan shifted and swirled, dissolving into a slowly dissipating mist.

Obi-Wan protested anyway – asking one last communication with his padawan, just a few minutes more, trying to gather the fraying edges of the bond long enough to be heard.

In response, a Force-storm wind of thunderclouds and fog attacked the connection between the two Jedi; lightning blazed across his mind, the heat searing and sizzling through neural pathways. Obi-Wan tried to stand against the onslaught, but he was eventually driven to his knees, his hands to his head. There was no sympathy, no joy either in the eyes that surrounded him now, only awareness of duty and necessity.

First Qui-Gon had been torn from him by death, now his padawan by the Council – both bonds forged by and both bonds broken by the Force. As much as that first severing had hurt, this was so much worse, for his mind was yet raw from captivity.

"No, please – ." Did he scream, or whisper? Beg? Were his words even audible?

"Due to your failure to obey the Will of the Force, a member of this Council you are no longer, Obi-Wan. You are lucky to retain your rank of master, though that, too, may be revoked if you do not rid yourself of the taint of the dark."

There was no pity in Mace's eyes. He stepped forward and crossed his arms, staring at his former colleague as Obi-Wan struggled painfully to his feet and stood swaying.

"If you continue to resist the Council's edict, you will be Force-suppressed, Obi-Wan. We cannot have your corruption spread amongst the Order."

"Please, don't do this. Help me…don't punish me."

"We are not punishing you, Obi-Wan; we are protecting the Chosen One, the Jedi order. We do as the Force commands. What light remains within you must see this as well."

Anakin. Once more Obi-Wan bowed to reality: Anakin was more important than Obi-Wan's feelings. Anakin mattered, the Chosen One mattered. Against that, Obi-Wan did not.

A Jedi served the Force, and the Force asked this sacrifice.

"I understand." And he truly did. Somehow the words came out stronger than a whisper, not as weak as a whimper.

"You may retire to meditate. May the Force cleanse your soul."

Despite being dismissed, Obi-Wan's feet refused to carry him from the chamber. His eyes were locked on his padawan – his former padawan. He could not leave, not without some expression of regret, an expression of how much Anakin meant to him.

"Obi-Wan," Mace warned when the Jedi did not move. "Why do you insist on making this difficult? Councilors?"

Obi-Wan's legs could not hold him up any longer; he fell to his knees and closed his eyes.

His former colleagues surrounded him, lifted him to his feet and dragged him towards the door, away from his padawan. His heels squeaked as they slid across the floor, for he slid more than he walked. He barely retained his balance.

"No, Anakin…," he whispered, his hand reaching for the boy he had raised, the boy he had comforted, and apparently the boy he had failed. "Not until – you forgive me."

"I wish no contact with you, defiled one," the 'Chosen One' returned stiffly. "These are the last words that shall pass from my lips to your ears. You are now dead to me, my former master, for I acknowledge nothing of darkness."

And with that, the final stake was stabbed into Obi-Wan's heart.

"No, Anakin, no…oo…ooo."

Gasping as if he'd run a marathon at altitude without training, Obi-Wan bolted upright, his heart about to burst out of his chest. A dream, oh he realized now it was a dream, but – what if - it could be a warning as well.

_What if the Council decides they must take Anakin away for his own protection? What if_, he caught his breath, _what if they're right to do so?_

Visions of a stern-visaged Anakin, eyes grim in a hard face filled his mind's eye, no longer the laughing boy he remembered but a man who knew nothing but hate and anger. A Jedi who had grown into his power and augmented his already considerable strength with power drawn from the dark side, and all because proximity to his master had contaminated him.

_Bodies strewn at his feet, limbs akimbo, and Anakin too emotionless and cold to even blink at the devastation he had wrought. _A shadow loomed behind the man, a man cloaked and hooded until he turned and – no, no – it couldn't be.

Eyes. His _own _eyes, burning…burning…burning…and in his hands, a lifeless infant, face contorted from the stranglehold that had broken his neck.

_Ian._

Obi-Wan couldn't help it: he gasped. He might even have stopped breathing.

_No!_ It would never come to that. _Never! _He would find a way to purge whatever needed purging from him, for he would not be the one to lead his padawan down that path. He would not be that figure in the cloak.

_I – I have to free myself from these dreams, these thoughts before I lose Anakin. _

"You shall try," the figure leered at him.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to scream….

And then he awoke, truly awoke – and wondered at the dampness on his cheeks and the thumping of his heart. _Protect Anakin_…that was all he remembered. _Protect Anakin – but from what?_

He pushed an arm against his face; pent up feelings demanded release and finally the tears came.

He wept, though he knew not why.

Blinking sleepily, Siri yawned and glanced at the chrono. "Sithly hour," she muttered, wondering what woke her. She rolled over to go back to sleep, but something nudged at her. At the edge of her consciousness, something demanded her attention.

"Obi-Wan?" Her brow creased in confusion. She looked again at the chrono. He should be asleep at this hour. Was the Force urging her to go to his side, or was it Obi-Wan's need that spurred her to throw her cloak over her nightclothes? Bant had said they were

discontinuing the sleep medicine to allow him to sleep naturally, but that his sleep might well be disturbed by nightmares.

_He'd better be having one Sith of a nightmare to wake me_, she grumbled, then sighed, dismissing the thought as unbecoming for a Jedi, even if entirely, well, earned, considering the hour. _Sorry, Kenobi_, she added for good measure, knowing a nightmare was the last thing she wished for him. She would hope the only nightmare this night would be the sight of her, disheveled and sleepy-eyed.

The night duty healer glanced at her, but at her glare, blinked and kept out of Siri's way as she swept by him. Visitors at this time of the morning were unusual, but few things rattled the healers. Padawans, masters, crèche masters, many were often pulled to their masters, padawans, or crechlings side at the urgings of the Force, which respected no hours.

The room was quiet, a soft shaft of light spilling from the open doorway behind her as Siri's step slowed. She stood just inside the door, looking, mystified at her urge to be here, a bit cranky to be woken just to look at a sleeping man.

She shifted on one foot, ready to retreat when the light brushed past her shoulder to touch his face. He looked so young, so vulnerable – "Obi-Wan," she whispered, crossing over to his side.

He was asleep, or nearly so, but tear tracks still stained his cheeks, far too fresh to have yet dried.

"Obi." She reached a gentle hand to his cheek to brush the dampness away. His eyes fluttered open at her touch and he mustered a small smile, a sleepy, "Siri."

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Kenobi."

"Wasn't…I wasn't quite asleep." He glanced over at the chrono and frowned at the time displayed. "It's the middle of the night, Siri."

The frown was one of confusion, a familiar and therefore welcome frown. His behavior now was not always typical and could not be expected to be, but everything that was so Obi-Wan was a promise the real Obi-Wan was still there waiting to emerge.

"You were crying."

"I was? Oh, yes, I suppose I was…I don't really remember why, I thought it was a dream." He sounded so confused that Siri wanted to hug him close. She merely let her thumb stroke his cheeks dry as her other hand clasped around his, settling on the edge of his bed.

"You have more than enough reason," she said gently, all tiredness now fled.  
"Perhaps," he acknowledged. His eyes met hers, open and vulnerable, perhaps too tired or still confused by his nightmare to dismiss his feelings with a wry joke. "Shouldn't I be able to put it behind me? I – don't feel like myself. I feel somewhat inadequate, that I'm not able to be, well, myself."

This time she couldn't help herself. He might have been revealing more of his inner doubts than he meant, but that he had chosen to confide even this much – and to her – touched her more deeply than she would have thought. She leaned forward and hugged him, and after a moment of hesitation, Obi-Wan hugged her back.

With a soft sigh, Siri snuggled against his shoulder, just reveling in the feel of arms around her back and a steady heartbeat under her ear.

_Force, he's strong_, she thought, and she wasn't thinking physical strength. He wrapped his arms around her much as he wrapped the Force around someone in need of comfort.  
She had seen him with victims of injustice; she had seen him consoling Anakin with such a hug when nothing else could quiet the despairing boy, but until now, she never knew for herself how his arms felt: as strong, as warm, as comforting as if they were arms of the Force itself.

Giving, still giving of himself when he was the one in need.

"I love you, you know," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure he heard it. Apparently he had, for his arms shifted and he tentatively cupped her face between his hands, his eyes searching hers as if looking for an inner truth, or perhaps the guidance of the Force.

"I know." He hesitated and she could see indecision in his face, a struggle that finally eased into acceptance. "I love you as well. We'll have to talk, but not now."

He kissed her, a brief brush of lips, an oh-so-gentle a kiss, before pushing her away. "You shouldn't be here at this hour, you know, dressed like that. Someone might get the wrong idea."

Wistfully, Siri contemplated them both actually getting the same wrong idea, but discarded it. He was right. They needed to talk about their feelings, about being Jedi, about how to handle this.

Summoning a smile, Siri ran her hands through her hair as she sat upright.

"Someone might get an idea that your nightmares turned into an actual apparition? I must look a sight."

"But a pretty one," Obi-Wan protested. "I actually like the messed up hair look, it's – you, a bit untamed."

"Compliments, Kenobi – you are sick."

"Oh." He looked abashed, then mischievous. "I always compliment a woman's nighttime attire every time one wanders into my room in the early hours of the morning. As you probably guess, that's not very often, so I'm not very good at the compliments."

"Not often? That means sometimes?" Siri raised an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan suddenly grinned. "That's my Siri, even at this hour of the night. Fine, I'll admit it, you are a sight. Why don't you try to get a few more hours of sleep?"

She raised an eyebrow at him; he looked confused and then shook his head as a teasing tone crept into his voice. "I told you once before, the healers wouldn't like it. Stop flirting with a hurt man, especially when, well," he cleared his throat, "after what we said."

"We said something? I thought that conversation was postponed." Siri winked at him and then lightly kissed the hand that had somehow again become entwined with hers. "Go back to sleep, you gundark, and dream a nice dream, okay? Maybe one with me in it?"

He let her get to the door before he muttered just loud enough for her to hear: "That'll be another nightmare if you look the same as you do now."

Siri thought of Force-throwing a pillow at him, but she wasn't sure his reflexes were up to that. Instead she turned around, ran her hands through her hair and made a face at him.

"Now you did it – I'm staying awake for sure!"

"Night, Kenobi."

"Night, Siri. Pleasant dreams."

Siri couldn't resist her chance to get the last word in for once. Without looking at him, she added, "Depends on whether or not you're in them, don't you think?"

And then she fled.


	50. Those Who Stand With Us

_It depends on whether or not you're in them, don't you think? _Obi-Wan stared at the doorway through which Siri had left. He didn't know whether to grin or bury his face in his pillow and groan.

Those dreams of the impossible that had helped sustain him had no place in a Jedi's life, but he was sure they were going to try their best to demand his attention, no matter what he thought about it.

Siri had come to him - a woman not a Jedi, to be at the side of a man not a Jedi - and stirred those dreams to hopes with just three words and a tender touch.

_I love you._

Too many things had been a blur, a mix of the real and fanciful, since his return; but that Siri loved him as deeply as he loved her could no longer be denied. True friendship had brought Siri to his side, deep affection infused her gentle hug and a woman's love for a man prompted her departing words. Just as real were these stirrings within him, that of a man for a woman – just what he needed right now.

Dear Force, how were they going to deal with all this? They had said too much, been through too much over the years, to ignore what was in their hearts. Denying their love just wasn't possible any longer; they would just have to learn how to live with it. He had learned once how to live with grief, until grief had transformed into an occasional ache. He could learn how to live with love as well.

Tonight, at least, he was sure if he slept much at all, it wouldn't be in the grip of a nightmare but in the embrace of a fantasy.

By morning, Obi-Wan remembered little of the nightmare that had brought Siri to his side. Something to do with protecting Anakin, he remembered, and in a dim corner of his mind he remembered also seeing little Ian's contorted face – as red and puffy as when Obi-Wan had first seen him so inconsolable.

_No_…a faint voice protested deep in his mind, for it knew it was not the face of a crying baby, but the face of one with its neck snapped, but that memory was too deep and the nightmare overlain by a dream far more pleasant. This nightmare would not resonate on a conscious level, nor would those yet to come.

"You have a visitor, Obi-Wan," Neille said, poking his head in sometime after Obi-Wan had finished his light first meal and was wondering what to do this day, or perhaps who to visit. "Make that two visitors."

One of the crèche-masters stepped in with a small bundle in her arms. A petite green-skinned Twi'lek, she had once been apprentice to Obi-Wan's own crèche-master.

"Master Kenobi, I hope you're feeling up to visitors? It's wonderful to see you back home at the Temple. Ian will be in my clan once he's released from the Healers, so we're getting acquainted. I've heard you two have already met, so Ian's my excuse to welcome you back before the line forms."

"Tyndara, it's always a pleasure to see you. May I hold Ian for a minute?" Obi-Wan braced Ian against his bent knees, holding him upright under the arms as the two Jedi – one adult and one not yet in training – gravely regarded each other.

"Well, hello there, remember me? Anakin's master? Anakin's the one who tried hard not to look disgusted when you drooled all over him, remember? If by chance he ever does become your master, just remember to drool on him whenever he won't let you do what you want to do."

"Good Force, you let that one handle a baby?"

"Anakin's actually quite good with babies, strangely enough. He talks baby-talk with them which I refuse to do," Obi-Wan countered, a twinkle in his eye. He suddenly sobered. "The few baby runs we did early in our partnership were hard on him. It always upset him when we left tearful parents behind; it reminded him of leaving his mother. Knowing how the Council just loves to have Jedi face their issues, I, ah, suggested Anakin loved it so much we should pull more such missions. Unfortunately, ah, we were never assigned another one."

"You lied!" Master Tyndara looked a bit shocked, even if she laughed.

Obi-Wan looked hurt. "I did not lie. Anakin really did love taking care of the babies on the trip back to the Temple."

"But…?"

'Oh, okay, I, er, told the truth - a partial truth - to get the result I wanted." Obi-Wan finally conceded with a chuckle. "From a certain point of view - it was the truth."

As always, when reminded he had not been Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan for nothing, he half smiled and threw a partially accusatory and partially fond look into the air. He knew how to bend "rules" for results when necessary and didn't regret such times at all, despite the fact he was known for his supposedly "strict obedience to rules" – he just did so quietly and without fanfare, and thus with little notice.

"Well, Ian, you're a lucky one, Master Tyndara is a fine crèche-master. Just don't pull on her lekku, okay?"

"After fifteen years, I am well versed in protecting my lekku," Tyndara said primly, then laughed. "The year preceding those fifteen was the painful one."

"We all have our burdens to bear," Obi-Wan said with a grin. He raised his voice slightly so it would carry, hearing footsteps approaching. "Mine is healers."

"I heard that, Obi-Wan," Neille retorted, from down the hallway. "You're popular today; you've got another visitor."

"Creating trouble again?" Siri asked, stepping into the room, dressed far more modestly than the night before. Obi-Wan heaved a silent sigh of relief; for pleasant as the sight had been, glimpses of soft curves draped in delicate shimmersilk had made him aware, uncomfortably aware, that Siri was - a woman, a desirable and utterly feminine _woman_, not just "Siri." To see her in Jedi tunics restored her to the Siri he knew and was most comfortable with.

"Let me guess…about a year ago, when you last paid a woman a compliment…perhaps?" She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly teasing him without actually speaking the words as she looked at man and baby.

"If a compliment, even a poor one, is responsible, maybe you should worry," he countered, meeting her raised eyebrow with his own. This time it was Siri who broke the eye contact, but she couldn't quite hide the light blush that stained her cheeks.

Totally oblivious to the comment's context, Tyndara smiled and looked expectantly at Siri and then the baby.

"Siri, meet Ian. Ian, this is Siri." Obi-Wan said, trying to keep a straight face. He knew what Siri was thinking; she'd expounded on it a few times or two in the past -_why is it  
in almost every culture, it seems, females are automatically expected to get all soft-eyed over babies. Babies are all fine and good but personally I don't really care one way or the other about cuddling every baby in proximity._

Siri's eyes met Obi-Wan's amused ones as the baby was transferred from his arms to hers under Tyndara's approving eyes. They both blinked.

"Awk-ward," Siri muttered under her breath and looked underneath her lashes at Obi-Wan, proof that she had somehow shared that feeling of almost – familiarity - in such an action. In another life, perhaps, it might be _their_ child, transferred from one parent's arms into the other's.

Obi-Wan carefully avoided her eyes, wondering if the Force was warning them of potential consequences should they pursue their rediscovered love. It could be a warning, a reminder of what could not be: that they were Jedi. It was one thing to dream about what it would like to be _together_, but _together_ in reality and with an armful of evidence of that would only be proof of how far they could fall away from duty to selfishness if they followed their hearts and not the Force.

"I'm not much into babies," Siri said as gracefully as possible and immediately handed the child back to the crèche-master. "That's why I'm a knight; I did enough baby runs in the past to last me for a while."

"Two!" Obi-Wan snorted.

Siri glared at him. "Three, just two less than you and Anakin, and one run was twins. They screamed the entire trip and I was alone, Kenobi; I couldn't palm them off on my padawan as you could."

"I didn't 'palm' any babies off on Anakin – he loved being with them," he protested.

"Sure."

Ian wailed, breaking the friendly bickering, a cry that deepened in intensity.

"Sorry, Ian," Obi-Wan said softly, reaching out to lay a contrite hand on Ian's small head, but Ian only cried louder, his little face contorting with his cries.

The Jedi snatched his hand away and paled at the piercing cry with a little cry of his own.

Both women promptly stared at him.

Hoarsely he protested, shaking his head at his own inexplicable reaction. "I – it felt wrong….but – but why?" He stared at his hand as if it didn't belong to him. The two women exchanged a quick look and Tyndara quietly withdrew with Ian crying in her arms. Obi-Wan didn't even notice.

"What was that about, Kenobi?" Siri sat down at his bedside and leaned forward as if expecting that he _had_ an answer to that question.

The Jedi scrubbed a hand over his chin before raising bewildered eyes to Siri. "I don't know. One minute I'm fine, and one minute – something like that happens."

"But you're not fine, not really, you're coping and rather well, it seems, until something triggers these reactions. You had a nightmare last night bad enough to bring me to your side at an absolutely Sithly hour of the morning. Maybe it's related to that?"

"I suppose…." He allowed Siri to take his hands within her own. The gentle rubbing felt good; it didn't help him move forward but it was comforting, caring. He found he craved that, craved it on a level a Jedi should not.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan complained, "Nightmares don't help. They're the past disturbing the present. Live in the here and now, right?"

"You have nightmares, Kenobi, because you've been through an absolutely horrible experience and you're still trying to deal with it. It's the past manifesting itself in the present."

"Through nightmares?" He snorted. "You know that's not what Qui-Gon taught me."

"Yeah, Kenobi, live in the here and now," she gently mocked. "Easier said than done, especially now."

"Especially now is when I should," he countered stubbornly, pulling his hands away and

tightly clasping them in his lap. _Let the past go, padawan _– oh, that's what Qui-Gon would say. _You can't move on if part of you insists on staying in the past._

"Listen to yourself, Kenobi, will you? Qui-Gon said, Qui-Gon said….. Obi-Wan, he didn't know any other way to live except in the present and so he tried to make everyone around him live that same way. Sometimes that just isn't possible, and not always wise – you've said that yourself. The past is still affecting you – Force, look at yourself! The past is still part of the present. Even if you don't believe it, pretend to believe it if you really need to hang onto this delusion of yours."

"I'll thank you not to call my master's wisdom 'delusions.'" Those words were his _lifeline_. It was all he had to hold onto until the Force returned. Couldn't Siri see that – and then, perhaps, she did, for her eyes softened despite the icy bite of his words.

"Forgive me, Obi-Wan. I didn't mean anything against Qui-Gon; I'm trying to help and apparently not doing such a good job of it. I'm only your friend, not a healer. That's why you have Cielan, I guess."

"Siri – I -," he wasn't sure himself what he wanted to say, what he wanted to hear – perhaps needed to hear. Wearily, he rubbed his head and sighed, for if nothing else, he had to apologize.

"Force, Siri…forgive me, I shouldn't have snapped at you. You didn't deserve that. I don't know what's wrong with me, or why I say these things. I just - lose - it sometimes, like you say, it's like something triggers...behavior or - or words that shame me. You should walk out on me, but you don't. The Force comes and goes; you stay."

"Don't worry so much, Kenobi. The healers said to expect outbursts - it's normal - you've got the chance to snap and growl, so do it now, because you won't get away with it when you're healed, okay?"

While he didn't return Siri's smile, his mouth twitched.

"If you absolutely must worry, let me worry with you – say the wrong things – stay at your side – so you won't have to recover on your own."

He could sense contrition and a genuine desire to help behind her words. Siri never minced words; always spoke her mind. It was one of the many things that he loved about her. He measured his words, his thoughts, he needed to absorb and think on things before acting. Siri spoke from the heart, not the mind.

This time he let his heart speak through his actions – he laid his hands over hers and held on tightly. Between Siri and the Force, fickle as its presence might now be, he knew he wasn't on his own.

Even if he was trapped between where he had been and where he now was - he wasn't alone.

He had Siri.


	51. Stubborn Jedi

"I understand you had a pretty bad nightmare last night," Cielan remarked as Obi-Wan entered her office.

Obi-Wan just nodded a bit glumly as he sat. He didn't seem so much depressed, more preoccupied with his own thoughts.

"Have you been able to meditate, and if so, has it helped?" Cielan asked.

"Only if you call sleeping 'meditating,'" he tried to grin. Such was to be expected, with his still weak grasp of the Force, meditation was not expected to come easily or deeply. They had already warned him not to try too hard, too soon. The Force would return to him, but not if he pushed himself right back to that state he was trying to recover from.

He finally processed Cielan's comment. "How did you know about that nightmare?"

"I have my ways – okay, I'll confess. Your eyes are a bit bloodshot and I have my sources – namely nosy night healers who are well aware that a certain ill Jedi master is not having midnight assignations in the healer's ward."

"That would shock a healer, wouldn't it?"

"Nothing shocks healers; believe me. We use Force dampeners in the surgical wing and some of the rooms. Every so often we find a couple of padawans in an intimate 'interlude' thinking with the dampeners they won't be discovered. After a lecture on the dangers of attachments and the sanctity of the Healers Ward, we let them go if the padawans are of legal age. Without a celibacy requirement there's little we can do."

"Oh." A low chuckle escaped Obi-Wan; a grin as of sudden understanding lightened his face. "Oh. So, that's what he meant."

"Your padawan?"

"Anakin?" It was Obi-Wan's turn to look confused. "No, er, I hope not. I just remembered something that had little meaning at the time. It was years ago as I was being released from the Ward. Tahl and Master were taking me home. Master looked at Tahl and murmured something about fond memories of exploring the 'Living Force.' Tahl shushed him right up."

"That sounds like Qui-Gon Jinn," Cielan agreed. "Jedi with high affinity to the Living Force are more apt to engage in such behavior."

"There was always this strong link between them. I knew they loved each other but it was on a subconscious level – this really great friendship. Tahl made Master happy as no one else could. Shortly before she died something ignited that friendship into something else." A look of – regret? pain? – flitted across his face as he spoke; Cielan wondered what lay behind that. He looked at her and murmured by way of explanation, "Just a memory…of the dangers of attachment."

"Well, we're not here to talk about Jedi's love lives, especially since you behaved quite properly last night. We're here to talk about how you're doing. So, have you been keeping a log of your nightmares as I asked?"

A mute headshake was her answer. "I don't remember them when I wake up. Maybe – does that mean I'm getting past them?"

Cielan hated to dampen the bright look of hope in his eyes. "It's too early to tell. Do you remember anything – perhaps how you felt when you woke up?"

"Drained, I think. Horror, despair… a fierce need to protect – my padawan? Pretty much what one might expect, I suppose. It was like my mind overloaded, then the next I knew, Siri was there, brushing a tear or two away. I guess…I guess I was crying." He shrugged, unable to shed any more light.

"Did Knight Tachi say what brought her to your side when even your padawan was unaware of any distress on your part?"

"We've been friends a long time," the Jedi said softly. "She's been worried about me and I suppose she's kept tabs on me through the Force – I'm not a total void, am I?"

"Your presence is rather faint and easy to overlook if one is not looking for it. This is not like Force-suppression – that interferes with your ability to call on the Force, but it also blocks the Force from reaching you. The Force still touches you; you just don't seem able to reach back. The reasons could be neurological, physical, or psychological, or a combination. We don't know how to explain you, yet, but we're working on it."

"You might as well give up," Obi-Wan muttered. Cielan wasn't often surprised, but she almost was until she saw the hint of amusement on the Jedi's face. "My padawan says he's given up trying to explain me."

Clasping his fingers, he leaned forward and hesitated a moment. With mixed frustration and satisfaction, Obi-Wan knew the nightmares that plagued him were hardly helping his state of mind. He didn't remember them, so he wasn't facing them as the healers wanted, which was just fine with him. He didn't want to remember; he wanted them gone.

"I told Siri I wanted the nightmares to stop and she told me as long as I didn't face them I would continue to have them. She said something about Qui-Gon and – I – she didn't deserve to be snapped at."

"She's right about the nightmares. You're not facing them but avoiding them, hence the nightmares arising from suppressed memories," was Cielan's response to that comment.

"We've discussed this. You were on medicine to control your pain and anxiety since you couldn't rely on the Force. Now you're off the drugs and you're going to have to face the nightmares until you disarm them yourself."

Obi-Wan remembered. He'd argued back that having nightmares was hardly facing his memories, for facing required conscious thought.

"Until you are capable of facing and releasing everything to the Force, your mind is trying to protect itself and heal by submerging the emotions and memories which are seeking an alternate means of escape; you are trying too hard to be unaffected by what you've experienced."

"I'm trying to be myself; I'm trying to be the Jedi I'm supposed to be," he responded, wondering why she just didn't get it.

"The 'who' you are is an Obi-Wan Kenobi trying to recover, not one who has already recovered or never suffered. Don't try so hard to deny who you are now in an attempt to be someone you once were and might be again."

"I'm a Jedi," he responded stubbornly. "Jedi don't dwell on the past, they move past it. That's all I'm trying to do, move on. "

"Nightmares are an unavoidable part of the recovery process," Ceilan told him. "You will get past them in time, but we still want you to keep a diary of them or your feelings when you wake, and report to us daily. If they interfere with your daily activities, you are to let us know. Your padawan will be under strict orders just to make sure that doesn't happen, and to call us if you ever have an extreme reaction to one, once we release you to your quarters."

"He's my padawan, not my nursemaid!" And a man already too burdened to take on another, he added silently.

"He is your padawan, and he agreed without hesitation, Master Kenobi. Do stop worrying about others so much and let others worry about you for a change, okay? Your padawan and friends only want to help."

His eyes fell; he didn't know quite how to respond, but he'd caught the shift in her speech, it was "Master Kenobi" now.

"I don't want them to worry," he finally confessed. "Not any more than they already have." He stood up and ran his hands through his hair and then sat down just as abruptly. Bant and Siri had both told him a bit of how they'd felt, feeling he was alive, knowing there was nothing they could do but hurt for long weeks into months…they'd already been through so much pain on his behalf.

It wasn't so much what they had actually told him – he knew there was much they hadn't said – but the little gestures that went with the words.

It was Siri sitting at his side, brushing tears away and offering to worry with him. It was Anakin, unwilling to share his experiences and seek the guidance he needed, for worry for his master.

It was one reason why he wanted – needed – to get past everything, to be the man that didn't need to be worried over, and so that he could be the man and the Jedi his padawan, friends, and the Order needed him to be.

Some of his thoughts must have been visible on his face, for Cielan's look softened.

"They'll worry one way or the other until you've recovered from this, but if you allow them to help, they'll actually worry a lot less about you. Think of the times you've worried about someone else, and how you felt when they confided in you – or didn't."

He couldn't deny the truth of her words. He let the memories come to him…

The knot in his stomach when Qui-Gon went silent and numb with grief, unable to share his pain at Tahl's death, and his own pain at being unable to comfort his mentor – and the relief when his master finally surfaced enough to share at least some of it with his padawan. It had helped them both heal from what threatened to become a rift in their relationship.

Siri's brittle gaiety and false exuberance upon her return to the Temple, the brushing aside of her undercover life as a member of a pirate gang, the padawan who seemingly left in disgrace and returned a seasoned knight, yet no longer knew her place in Temple life.

Siri was his _friend_, so Obi-Wan had finally cornered her and gotten past her guard by bluntly telling her he didn't care what she had had to do, she would always be Siri to him, so if there was something she needed to get off her chest that wasn't classified, he would listen silently and without judgment.

That unconditional acceptance had loosened a flood of unresolved shame and anger as he had sat patiently at her side as the words poured out of her, and when embarrassment crept in at her lack of restraint, he had squeezed her hands and drolly 'confessed' he'd missed everything by falling into a deep meditation and could she start over. She had smacked him on the arm for not listening – but they both knew it was an act to break the tension, confirmed when Siri had suddenly gripped his hand and squeezed hard – and not let go for long, peaceful minutes.

And Anakin…it had taken a few months before his young padawan felt comfortable enough around him to confess to certain things that worried or confused him as he tried to adjust to life as a Jedi padawan. He had tried his best to be patient and understanding, even if he didn't understand Anakin's concerns, but in later years…Anakin no longer spoke to him when he was troubled.

That lack of – honesty, or was it trust, or mere adolescent withdrawing from an older mentor – troubled Obi-Wan.

It was true – worry left unresolved when a word, a gesture…_oh, Anakin, how I wish you would let your master– someone, anyone – help guide you now…._

"You're right," honesty compelled him to admit when he was wrong. Yet he feared for Anakin should the entire story come out. Bant, Siri, Garen – they would hurt, but on his behalf – Anakin, as well, yet he would also end up scarred and hurt. His padawan would not release the pain, and it was not his to bear.

"Yet if I knew the knowledge would only hurt someone – would that not be selfish to put that burden on one?"

"You can still set boundaries, Obi-Wan, on how much you share and when," Cielan assured him. "You haven't faced much yourself yet – so let your padawan and friends help when you need help. You can't do this alone, but you don't have to reveal everything either. The only one who'll make you face yourself is you – when you're ready to do so. Our job is to help get you to that point as soon as possible."

He nodded slowly. She was right, in order to heal he had to start the process of healing, and that meant no longer hiding from himself. What he found might determine whether he continued to keep what he found to himself while he found a way to take whatever action he deemed appropriate at that time.

He could start with the smaller things first, the injuries to his physical body – the injuries before – before – the mask. That damned mask! At the thought of it, his entire body tensed and he reached for the Force to wash the guilt and the horror away, that stain that seemed etched on his very soul.

He was aware of someone reaching towards him, gently touching his hand and he shied back, shaking his head. The words finally penetrated and he blinked; his hands reached to his head and slid over his face, his head until he was convinced no mask covered him.

He slumped in his chair and took a deep breath, shuddering every so slightly.

"Want to tell me about it?" the healer questioned. "Have you noticed that you reach out to others, but shy away when others reach to you?"

"No," he admitted, rubbing his chin. He certainly hadn't been shying away from Siri; he seemed to crave her touches, be they a hand on his or her lips against hers. "No," he repeated, sitting up straight.

"A part of you wants reassurance, yet you expect pain if someone reaches out to you. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he said, dropping his head. Why hadn't he noticed for himself? Was he that focused on just himself?

"Let's work on that, then," she said gently. "If I say I'm going to reach out and touch you, does that bother you?"

"No."

She studied him, a tendril of Force confirming his words. "So the reaction is pure instinct. So if I repeat that I am going to touch you and now I do actually reach out - ?" Slowly a hand moved forward and rested on his; he blinked but didn't shy away.

"Good. Let's repeat this a while until you feel comfortable enough to accept it without thought, shall we? We call it reprogramming your reflexes and we'll work on that today. The mind and the body are far more entwined than some think, and once you get comfortable with the physical touches you might become more accepting of the emotional support of your friends."

They worked on that for a while until Obi-Wan no longer reacted to the unexpected movements towards him. His anxiety level arose a notch when a soft knock on the door preceded another healer's step inside the room. The Jedi's head swung around and he half stood as if uncertain whether to back away or crouch into a defensive stance.

The two healers exchanged a brief word then Cielan resumed her seat. She studied the by-now-seated Jedi, the tight posture indicative of a man ashamed of his reactions.

"The unexpected behind you startles you," she said matter-of-factly. "Most sentients minus a strong Force presence react similarly, and with your training to be alert at all times, your reaction was perfectly normal."

"It's not normal for me," Obi-Wan half-snapped. "What if I had thought he was a threat, and I attacked? What if …?" _What if I've become the very thing I fear most?_  
"But you didn't attack him, did you? You reacted, but not too excess. You faced a potential threat – and assessed it before acting. I hardly think you are a danger to yourself or others."

"Can you guarantee I won't – won't hurt anyone?" Eyes begged for an answer that couldn't be given. Finally, Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm tired – may we continue this another time."

Buried deep behind the Jedi's eyes – was what appeared to be fear.

"Fear?" So many possibilities on what that fear was, Cielan thought, from the obvious to that not so apparent. She had almost missed that quick flash.

* * *

"Obi-Wan, is Bant in with you?" Neille stuck his head in and grinned at the obvious. "Bant, you're officially off shift – I'm here. How are you feeling today, Obi-Wan? You and the ladies – Bant sits with you one night and has the dubious honor of cleaning you up and then last night you have Knight Tachi holding your hand after a nightmare."

His cheerful face fell when Bant made a little motion to him. Obi-Wan was lying listlessly in bed, an arm across his face, weariness in every line of his body. She patted him on the hand and stood. Passing by Neille, she mouthed, "He slept some; he hasn't been awake long. He saw Cielan earlier; see if you can distract him."

His attention fully on Obi-Wan, Neille nodded as he crossed over to the bedside and studied the latest readings. "Well, my friend, physically you're to the point where I don't think we need to keep you here much longer. Bones, muscles – you have the body of a knight run over by circumstances rather than a near-human bludgeon."

Obi-Wan merely grunted at the joke, though his mouth twitched in mild amusement. Thus encouraged at this spark of life, Neille sat down in the chair that Bant had just vacated.

"Why don't you go visit little Ian before he's released to the creche?" Neille suggested. The flash of alarm in Obi-Wan's eyes startled him, as did the gruff, "No."

"Why ever not? All those babies – think of it, a captive audience. Go sing to them."

"I'm not a crèche-master, for Force's sake. Ian, is," he hesitated, not sure himself why, "better off." He looked away, and mumbled, "I don't dare."

"What was that last, Obi-Wan?"

"I don't want him to get attached to someone who won't be there for him." Obi-Wan said, crossing his arms in his "this is my final word on the subject" posture.

* * *

"…while you know I can't discuss the details, I can tell you that one of the biggest impediments to his recovery is his stubbornness."

Patient confidentiality was paramount, but Cielan knew the grand master of the Order sat before her not seeking to breach that confidentiality, but seeking direction how to help as both a Council member and a friend of the Jedi in question. Within her constraints, she would give the ancient master as much information as she could.

Yoda's eyes crinkled knowingly. "Stubborn indeed he is, but selflessness you mean, I think. Will deny himself help or comfort to avoid burdening others he will."

"I would have to agree, except I've never met anyone that selfless unless they were playing the martyr. He, however, is sincere in this desire to handle things on his own, to avoid 'burdening others' and it's getting in the way of his recovery. He's his own biggest obstacle."

"Deceit in him there is none – like all living beings, selfish desires he has, but so afraid always wrong they are that squashes them he does before they take root. Fears they will lead him where he does not wish to go - away from the Jedi path, from doing the Will of the Force."

"Then the Force needs to sit him down and have a long conversation," Cielan muttered. To her surprise, Yoda snorted in amusement and agreement.

"A feeling I have that the Force will find a way to reach him, through his friends or his padawan. Even you, it may be. Time it will take, progress forward, a step backwards…help him you will, I will, his friends will."

"Time however, we do not have an excess of." Yoda sighed and his ears drooped. "Concerned the Council is – concerns I do not share but concerns I must heed."

"Concerns?" Cielan leaned forward, openly curious.

"When time to speak, I will. Answers not yet needed for the questions – for not yet are they asked openly."

With that cryptic answer, Yoda stood and hobbled from Cielan, leaving a concerned and uneasy healer staring after him.


	52. Good Moments & Bad

Thanks everyone for reading, and because life has kept me busy, I'm posting 2 chapters. Do note by Chapter 61 Obi-Wan will have found some peace and will be moving past the trauma into the final stages of recovery with a greater focus on developing the will-they, won't they romance (the worst will be behind Obi-Wan and he can focus more on other things).

__

Blood – it was all his fault, his fault

…. He squeezed his eyes shut, but not seeing did not mean he could not feel. One could not just shut out feeling – not without the Force as a buffer.

"Obi, I'm fine. It's my fault for making you jump like that," Bant soothed, wiping away the drop of blood from her nose. Without thinking she had bent over the sleeping Jedi and lightly touched his shoulder. He had woken with a start, and in the process his head had collided with her face.

"Obi, look at me, I'm fine." Bant sat next to her friend and carefully pried his hands from his eyes. 'I'm fine, see."

With a hitched breath, Obi-Wan stared at her and then, much to Bant's surprise, he engulfed her in a hug.

"Whoa, there, Obi, let me breath. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He grinned sheepishly and reached a gentle hand to Bant's nose. He sounded so contrite that Bant nearly laughed. "Bant, I'm so sorry."

"No harm, Mon Calamari noses don't bleed like humans do. One little drop and that's about all."

"One little drop"…but he'd seen so many more.

"Yeah, just one little drop," he agreed. He touched her nose again. "But I caused this one as well."

The scare of the morning was long past by the early afternoon.

Master and padawan sat side by side in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, feet submerged in the lake, quietly enjoying each other's company. The healers had encouraged Anakin to accompany Obi-Wan on short forays within the Temple to build up his stamina. With most adult Jedi away at the war, it was easy to schedule such outings when classes were in session, for as yet Neille wished to protect the Jedi from the stress of interacting with multiple Jedi at once – especially young and exuberant young ones delighted in the knowledge that one who had been missed was now back home.

"Do you … dream, Master?" Anakin pulled his feet out of the lake and tucked them under him.

He'd been out of the Temple that night when Obi-Wan had had that disturbing nightmare that had brought Siri to his side. He'd been in the arms of his wife when his master had been in the arms of horror. Guilt had chained him close since then, but whatever dreams the Jedi had since then brought neither the padawan nor the friend to his side in the nights.

If his sleep was often disturbed, or not at all, Anakin really did not know, other than that sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to waken with a smile on his face rather than tears in his eyes.

It seemed a logical question, then, to ask, if the smiles came with dreams and the cries with the nightmares.

Now he dared to ask, as over the past few days Obi-Wan had begun to share some of his youth with him, fond memories, sad memories, some with Qui-Gon in them and some without. The words had been tentative at first, almost shy. As Anakin had encouraged his mentor to speak the words flowed more freely.

At first he had listened, the healer's words still fresh in his mind. "Let him speak of things he remembers fondly. Let him know it's safe to be open."

He had been affronted at the implication – if the man didn't feel safe speaking to his padawan after all these years, there was something wrong between them – but Anakin quickly realized that Cielan had already known what he had been beginning to realize for himself – Obi-Wan Kenobi did not share himself easily, and even less so when such sharing seemed not welcome.

He knew little about his master's youthful exploits, fears or dreams, largely because he had never asked.

So he had talked to Bant and he had talked to Siri; after that he had talked to his master. Obi-Wan had stared at him; then touched his hand to the padawan's forehead with a quip about "fevers" and "delirium." When Anakin pressed for more, his master had almost been at a loss for words at this sudden interest in his past, not realizing that speaking of the past was one way for Anakin to find out who the man was that had grown into his master and possibly help that man he had become move forward to healing.

"No, Master, don't tell me about Qui-Gon – tell me about you," he said. Almost shyly, he'd added as Obi-Wan stared at him in shock, "I've come to realize that, well, there are lots of things about my own master that I don't know – and want to know."

Pleasure and surprise fought their way across the Jedi's countenance, before he slowly nodded. "I'd like that…if you'd really like to know, not just because one of the healers suggested it. Oh, Anakin, I'm not dim-witted – it's one of the same techniques we use in negotiating, after all, get all parties comfortable in speaking up."

"Okay, it was Healer E'Shon's suggestion, but I decided maybe she was right, even if for the wrong reason." He debated with himself on how open to be, to risk opening potential wounds. If there was one thing he had learned over the past months, it was how much Obi-Wan meant to him, and how much of the man he did not truly know – only thought he knew.

Had he lost Obi-Wan, truly lost him, there would be too little of him to commit to his heart as Obi-Wan had committed Qui-Gon.

He had never once thought there could be a time when Obi-Wan wasn't in his life, but now he knew it was possible. Jabiim had proven how frail such certainty of immortality was – Kenobi and Skywalker would not always be a team. When the Force called one of them home, that one would go and the other would have to remain behind.

"What reason would that be, my padawan?"

There was something in Obi-Wan's gentle gaze that indicated some of his thoughts were clear to his master. Obi-Wan was touched and amused at the same time, but not going to let his padawan off easily – Anakin needed to speak what was in his thoughts. Hadn't his master always let his padawan find his own words and his own way – even his own answers when such was possible?

"Master, I, uh, know Master Qui-Gon is not truly gone to you, because you have so much of him in your memories. Some part of him lives on because of that. I want more of you to live on, too, than I have now."

"That means a lot to me, Padawan. Thank you."

His master's reaction was proof enough he didn't know his master as well as he thought. Discussing his potential demise didn't bother him in the slightest; Obi-Wan was at peace with the Force on the subject. He was touched by his padawan's words rather than bothered by the subject.

With Anakin's encouragement, Obi-Wan had spoken a bit haltingly, occasionally darting glances at his padawan as if doubting he was sitting there speaking not of Qui-Gon, but of Qui-Gon and himself, himself and Garen, with or without Bant.

Superficial things and little moments, so much of what they had spoken of consisted of just such things. Anakin vowed it was just the beginning. It would take a lifetime for a lifetime's memories to be shared, and Anakin meant to savor every moment of it.

"Dream as in dreams, or do you mean the nightmares?" Obi-Wan asked. He turned his gaze from the lake before them to his padawan's eyes and smiled. "Both, I think. So far the nightmares elude me upon awakening, and while the healers say that is not good, I consider it so. I prefer the times I awake with dreams built from memories of my friends and of my padawan - of you jumping in my bed your first violent storm, or the first time you asked to go swimming – in water!"

"You remember both those?" Anakin was delighted, and deeply touched that some of his "firsts" meant as much to Obi-Wan as to himself. "You know, Master, I – ah, I'm sorry we lost some of that closeness for a while."

To his surprise, Obi-Wan reached out an arm and draped it over his padawan's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, too. Perhaps neither of us handled the transition well – of you growing from a child in need of direction to -," an impish smile spread across Obi-Wan's face, "an adult young man still in need of direction."

Anakin met that impish smile with one of his own. "Is that why I'm always leading you astray?"

"Ah, Padawan, but I always follow, do I not?"

"Muttering that awful saying about the definition of stupidity," Anakin countered.

"So you do pay attention to me."

"Sometimes, yes," Anakin allowed, not failing to catch the twinkle in his master's eyes.

Truly, his eyes had been opened to so much since their reunion, the talk in the shuttle, the touching of his master's memories in the bacta tank. Chancellor Palpatine would be pleased at his young friend's growing understanding of his master. As busy as he was, the older man had done his best to make up to his young friend for the perceived lack of warmth from his mentor that Anakin had often complained about.

If he could just get the stubborn man to fully open up to him and let Anakin give him an emotional shoulder to lean on, but Obi-Wan would always be Obi-Wan – only allowing hints of his real emotions out – but they were making a beginning.

_Don't push him, padawan, but do encourage him to release whatever he can with unconditional acceptance_. Cielan had been quite clear on that. _If he doesn't find a way to release everything to the Force, everything will find some release at some point, some way, perhaps explosively. If he lets out a little at a time, the results will be less spectacular but far less alarming to witness._

"I know," Obi-Wan whispered conspiratorially, putting a hand on the young Jedi's shoulder and squeezing lightly. Despite himself, Anakin's eyebrow rose in dead imitation of his master.

"Uh, know what?"

"You want to give me a change of scenery to make me feel good, so you're sitting here with your old master when you no doubt wish to be elsewhere. I appreciate that."

"I want to be here for you, Master. You've always been at my side when I've needed you, if it was at all possible. I know you don't really need me, or anyone really, because you seem almost yourself again – and I'm glad. I knew you could put this behind you fairly quickly."

"Well, I'm not entirely there, yet." He pulled his feet out of the water. Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, Obi-Wan regarded his padawan with slightly shamed eyes, as if confessing something he found difficult.

"The truth is, Padawan, most of the time I feel in control and I don't know what it is the healers worry about. I try to live in the present as Qui-Gon taught me. Then I overreact to hitting Bant in the nose – no, not on purpose," he tweaked Anakin's own nose playfully, "and then I realize I'm not fully myself yet, either."

The words lingered in the air as Anakin absorbed them. Suddenly, he tilted his head to the side with a grin.

"If you're not my master, then who are you?"

Obi-Wan's rich laugh startled the padawan. "You know, I think I remember Mace asking me something similar - who did I think I was. Are you two in this together?"

"Master Windu and I?" Anakin merely rolled his eyes. "He barely tolerates me – can you see us conspiring – together – against you? I have a better idea – you and I against him."

In response, a fond hand ruffled his hair as Obi-Wan hesitated before leaning close and whispering, "That 'wig delivery' stunt of yours – I knew about it. How do you think I just happened to be visiting Mace at the right time?"

A slow grin spread across Anakin's face. _Wig Order for Windu_, ah yes, a fond memory.

"Hey, you're not such a stick in the mud after all, Master."

"Not always, Padawan, not always. I saw no harm in such a prank, and I knew eventually Mace would see the humor in it, too. Um, remember the hairy spider 'the size of a Bantha' that dropped on you up there on that diving platform? I believe you had been hesitating about making your first dive into the pool from that height."

"No – that was Master Windu?" At Obi-Wan's nod, Anakin doubled up but didn't fail to notice the reminiscent grin on his master's face. "You were in on it, too!"

"Your master? Why Padawan, why would I resort to such a trick to get you to jump off the platform when all I would have needed to do was to ask you to step back from the edge? That would only be running away from your fears, now wouldn't it – or should I say jumping?"

With a friendly clap on the shoulder, Obi-Wan stood. "For the record, I'm not afraid of fish served with the head still on." At Anakin's puzzled look, a little smile crossed his face.

"Master Windu, however, is."

* * *

The peace of earlier had long since evaporated. Obi-Wan longed to be back in the spot that comforted him, holding a normal conversation with his padawan, listening for the Force in the soft splash of the fountains or scenting it in the delicate aroma of Haleothe blossoms.

Instead he faced a persistent healer.

"Do you think you can talk some more on that?"

The question brought Obi-Wan upright; he had been slumped in a seat, relieved, or so he thought, to be finished – ready to rest after a long afternoon.

"What 'more'?" he inquired a tad grumpily. "Force, you want me to draw you a diagram – show you the scars?"

Cielan refused to be baited, which the Jedi had to admit made his irritation just a bit less frustrating. He wasn't really trying to bait her, but her questions made him feel like she was baiting him.

Like _she_ had.

"The scars are all too evident without that, Obi-Wan."

He dropped his head into his hands. Better that than to throw up his arms and pace around like a deranged Jedi. Better that than growling. As time went on, she only grew calmer as he grew more agitated.

He had been rather satisfied that he was moving forward; his ability to speak without shaking of what was done to him dulled by repetition and too many years of too many wounds.

That didn't mean he enjoyed speaking of such things – and to have Cielan make him focus on such had him rather wondering at the state of _her_ mental health.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting Cielan away and inadvertently shutting himself in with stirred up memories.

How many times did he need to relive it…?

…_The vibroblade twisted as it drove deeper, rasping and tearing living flesh until the moist flesh of her hand – moist in the wash of his blood – connected with his bare skin. It was cold, wet and slithery though it brought only searing fire shocking through him. _

_With a laugh deep in her throat, the vibroblade was twisted free and withdrawn and her hand swirled around the wound, stroking the red swells into patterns, painting him with red as her tongue sipped from his skin… delicate sips from a cruel mouth…a mouth that seemed suddenly determined to taste the horror and pain leaching through his pores…her eyes dropped lower and she smiled before dipping her head down…. _

"Obi-Wan, wake up."

"What?" His voice wavered as he blinked. Cielan now sat at his side, her hands against his cheeks. He groaned and tried to sit up straight.

"Sshh, just breathe for a few minutes. You fell asleep and had a nightmare."

"I – what?"

"A nightmare. Want to tell me about it?"

It took a while for the words to sink in. He had been lost in the memory of _her_ teeth sinking in where a moment before lips had worried his flesh in an ecstasy of abandonment. He brushed a hand across his forehead as if brushing away the memories, but it wasn't so easy.

"No," he admitted. Yet, it was a nightmare born from a memory, real and yet not real; the difference between blurred by a desire not to remember. He didn't want to speak of it – but he wanted to get past it, and if speaking of it meant Cielan would let it go….

"That must have hurt terribly."

He nodded; she was speaking of his nightmare, he was speaking of the entire nightmare he'd escaped from.

"After awhile, it was hard to tell. Once the pain is a living thing, it's – well – you just endure."

"So now you numb it as best you can. You talk about this burn, that punch, that vibroblade slash – but you speak of each one as it you were reciting a laundry list of wounds. I can get those details from Neille and Bant."

"What details do you want?" He finally snapped; accusing her of taking an unhealthy delight in the details he had yielded.

"I was beaten… stabbed, burned…how many times do I have to tell you that? Did I forget to mention something that left a scar behind or something? What do you want me to say! When every nerve in my body was afire with pain, do you want me to say I should have just bit my lip, that a Jedi wouldn't scream from the pain….well, when my throat was too raw to scream anymore, was I a Jedi then? Oh, Force, it hurt…."

He turned his head away; heedless of the tears trickling down his cheeks for the pain in his throat was so bad that he couldn't even scream anymore.

"This will make your throat feel better," Cielan said after a few minutes of silence, a glass of warm water in her hand.

"How?" he croaked.

"You're rubbing your throat, for one thing." After he took the glass and swallowed a few mouthfuls, she said gently, "It's not really sore is it? It was, but it's not now, is it?

"It was so real," Obi-Wan said, closing his eyes and leaning wearily against the seat back.

"It was real - then. So, do you really think a Jedi wouldn't scream with that much pain inflicted on him? What if was another Jedi there? Would you be upset if that Jedi screamed, or would you think the Jedi didn't deserve to be called one, because he screamed – what if it was your padawan?"

He stared at her and then slowly shook his head.

"So we agree – even a Jedi would scream with all that pain, so I guess that means you're a Jedi as well."

"You really should be a mind healer," Obi-Wan grumped.

"You think? Here." Cielan grasped his hands and sent waves of Force to brush his mind until she felt him relax. "Does that help – I know this was an intense session."

"Thank you, I'm sorry…I got snappish again. I hate that."

"I pushed you to it, okay? I'll forgive you if you forgive me."

When Cielan grinned at him, he slowly grinned back and nodded. "I'm on to you, now. When I feel like I was – or am – not coping well, I just need to plop an imaginary Jedi in my place? Predictable; I should have seen that coming from parsecs away."

He shook his head slowly. Sometimes part of the answer just stared one in the face; one just had to recognize it and accept it.

Cielan had gifted him with the obvious; it was now up to him to find a way to make use of it.


	53. In His Padawan's Custody

"Should we release him?"

The question still hung in the air as three healers sat in Cielan's office, discussing their patient. Physically, Obi-Wan was recovered enough to be discharged, to finish healing and regain body mass and muscle. His fatigue, though still present, was no longer a major concern; Obi-Wan would still be on medical leave and his activities monitored.

"I've researched everything Jocasta Nu could find on Force exhaustion and I still can't explain why Obi-Wan's midis aren't functioning correctly. Those with worse cases died, and those with less severe cases fully recovered after a period of rest. Him, however, we can't explain."

Hearing those words in an entirely different context almost made Cielan smile.

"Could it be – a combination of different factors?" Bant offered. The healers continued to review the case notes and the medical tests.

"We know he was poisoned by those grubs," Bant said slowly. "There were toxic aftereffects – gastrointestinal distress, nausea, nerve stimulation…."

"He mentioned he was poisoned during your initial exam," Cielan said, reviewing that report once more. "Reading this, I think he meant a separate poisoning; he very clearly stated that those grubs could survive digestion and were meant to ingest his organs from the inside – he didn't use the word poison when referring to that. Might we have a toxic interaction?"

"I missed that," Neille said, scanning the report eagerly.

"Obi's usually very precise in his words," Bant added. "He must have been talking two different things."

"Poison and toxins…no, not by itself, no," Neille said, thinking hard. "We wouldn't have this on-off cycle in this case. Something triggers a reaction– does it trigger the midis on – or off? I wish I could even figure that out."

Yawning, Bant stood up. "I can't think straight right now. The only thing I can think of right now is to reread all the date, read Alpha's account to the Council and see if there's the slightest clue there we might have missed. So we agree – release Obi but monitor him?"

As the only major concern the healers had were the recurring nightmares and the intermittent connection with the Force, they all agreed.

They explained to him they were still baffled by his on and off connection to the Force, for his midichlorian count was not yet within range of the Order's target. They would have expected no connection, or total connection, not this intermittent connection to the Force, as Neille frankly admitted to the Jedi.

His release came with a stern admonition that he was restricted to quarters for the first few days for more rest, then to the Temple until given permission other, and even then he was expected to remain in his quarters unless accompanied by someone.

"You can blame that on yourself, Obi," Bant said matter-of-factly when he grumbled. "Pulling so much on the Force in the condition you were in absolutely exhausted you as you already know; this exhaustion was no ordinary one because of that. You spend a good part of your time sleeping, admit it – at least you aren't restricted to bed rest in your quarters. I expect it'll be for just a few days."

"I am doomed to Anakin's cooking?" Obi-Wan made a sad face. "Can't I stay here?"

"Afraid he'll feed you those bugs you told me about – oh, Obi!" Bant clamped a hand over her mouth.

Despite a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Obi-Wan merely shook his head as he fought the urge to head for the 'fresher.

"Don't, Bant. You can't worry that every word brings up a bad memory. If everyone tiptoes around me, we'll all be constantly on edge. I don't want my friends afraid to be around me, to measure each word before they speak. I'm edgy enough on my own at times; worrying about your worry will just make me even edgier, okay?"

"Force forbid you get any edgier," Bant teased back, aware of the wisdom in his words. "Just remember Master Yoda's stick."

"He's never cracked anyone's bones yet." He flexed his fingers, thoughtfully staring at them. Other than a slight swelling, they looked and functioned as normal now. As deformed as they had looked, strangely they had never hurt much, the pain too buried, he supposed, in the greater pain of that time.

"Please, can I at least go to the meal hall? I can use a hover chair. I won't have any trouble carrying a tray. See, they work just fine." He flexed his fingers at her and gave her his puppy-dog look.

"Obi, no. Confined to quarters for at least a couple of days, I said. Anakin can cook, fetch a meal for you, or you can have it delivered. You are allowed visitors as long as they don't tire you out. Normally we would restrict the number of such visits, but, oh, Obi, so many Jedi are away fighting."

The reminder quickly sobered the Jedi. He remembered the echoes of absent Jedi after Geonosis; never had the Temple seemed so lifeless as then, even the Force straining to make itself felt. It was a much quieter Obi-Wan that asked his next question.

"What about classes – can I visit the initiates, anything?"

"Obi, what part of rest don't you understand?" Bant threw an exasperated look at her friend. "Maybe in a few days; I'll check with Neille, it's his call. The little ones will surely tire you out, but perhaps initiate level and higher – but no sparring classes, that's for sure."

"It'd be good therapy," he tried, giving Bant his most ingratiating grin, the one Bant claimed she could not resist. It might work on his friend Bant, but it did not work on healer Bant.

"And one of the initiates gives you a big whack, you go down, the initiate is either scared witless at downing a Council member or gets way too overconfident when one of thebetter swordsmen in the Temple is so easily defeated. No, Obi, you know that's not a good idea."

Imagining himself at ten defeating Mace Windu, unlikely as that would have been, he had no choice but to agree.

"What about your medical records, Obi?"

"My records?" He suddenly realized what the actual question was: the extent to which he wanted them kept private. The medical records could be sealed or left open, and if the latter, under what restrictions did he want them placed?

Somehow the question brought home the reality of what he struggled to put behind him and his heart skipped a beat. Such a simple question, but it was the moment of truth, of hard-edged answers. Just how much did he wish to bury away, whether within himself or within sealed records?

Torn between revealing the extent of his mistreatment and the wish to keep the knowledge bound within him, Obi-Wan gave the only answer that the man he had been could, one that held true to his deepest beliefs; he finally told Bant that as his friend she was free to share any pertinent medical information she deemed reasonable and necessary to any one who asked. Any Jedi who wished to know would not inquire out of idle curiosity.

Understanding Obi-Wan's reluctance, Bant quietly classified his med chart as "Jedi-secure." Obi-Wan could retain the strength of his convictions yet should never be in danger of seeing all the details showing up on the Holonet.

The information would remain within the Temple; details would not go beyond its walls unless subpoenaed for some reason by the courts. Not even the Senate or the Chancellor's office would have access to it, though as yet, none but the Jedi knew of his return – or so they thought.

As he was still being overseen by the mind healers, those records were still restricted. Once closed, those records would be open only to the healers and the Jedi Council and then only to the latter upon a formal request to the mind healers.

Bant realized that the details of his captivity – the known details, for much lay hidden within the Jedi's mind, yet unshared – were too painful and too personal to be fodder for idle curiosity and speculation.

Politicians might hold Obi-Wan up as an example of the "evil of the Separatists;" the Separatists try to twist his truth into an example of "Republic lies or Jedi brainwashing," while ordinary citizens shivered in distant horror and excitement over brutal treatment that would be reduced to mere entertainment for the masses. Unless holograms of his gaunt and scarred body were made public and the nightmares that interrupted his sleep freely distributed, the true horror of his situation would be minimized and sanitized, questioned and denied.

There was no reason to put Obi-Wan, or anyone, through that kind of public scrutiny.

After a quick shower to "wash away the sterile stench of the Healer's Ward" Obi-Wan dressed in light training clothes that Bant had fetched for him. They were his own clothes, but they still hung on his still-too-thin frame. Though physical wounds rarely bothered him, Obi-Wan wanted to avoid the sight of whatever the looking glass would show – it might show more than he wanted to yet see. In his rush to dress, he got tangled in the top as he pulled it over his head and the fabric draped around his head. His struggles to get free just made it worse, trapping him in folds of cloth.

_No, no_…he breathed. A whispered cry to Bant didn't reach her. He was stuck. Gods, no – he was suffocating – drowning – falling… and his world was going dark….

A thud made Bant run over to the fresher and call worriedly, "Are you okay, Obi?"

A soft moan came back. "Bant. Help me, please." The panic in his voice prompted her to push the door open, to find Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, struggling desperately to free himself. Despite the initial reaction of wanting to laugh, the situation was anything but funny.

"Stop fighting, Obi," Bant said calmly. Wondering at his hitched breathing, she worked the shirt down over his torso. "I guess we've found the secret weapon to defeat a Jedi – a shirt."

Her attempt at lightening the atmosphere fell flat. Obi-Wan looked up at her, his head finally free, and his eyes wide with some nameless emotion. "It attacked me," he said breathlessly, trying to smile.

But his fingers were trembling, as was his voice.

"He was scared." Bant said, her voice hushed with disbelief. "Obi was scared – of his shirt. As soon as he was free, he relaxed and even made a joke out of it, but – he was scared."

The two healers were silent, contemplating the possibilities. They knew from Obi-Wan he had been trapped within dirty clothes before being stripped entirely of them; they knew it had been dark, damp and cold, they knew he'd been poisoned and tortured to tears and beyond – but there was something else they weren't aware of. It was something Obi-Wan was not revealing, and that was the piece of the puzzle they needed.

After a moment's reflection, Cielan said, "He's functioning well enough, other than these episodes. Let's still release him, since his padawan will be there watching for any adverse reactions. "

"For a few days, at least – Anakin's not much for inaction for long," Bant muttered. "In the meantime, I'll keep digging deeper for clues."

"In session, I may have to push Obi-Wan a bit hard – harder than I like," Cielan said thoughtfully. "Pushed hard enough he'll either say something he's trying to hide or something he's hid so successfully even he doesn't remember it, though it may cause a minor setback for a time. I have a feeling that if Neille could figure out why this on and off connection to the Force and actually repair it, Obi-Wan would face this on his own with the Force to back him up. He's definitely been through something far more traumatic than we can possibly imagine. We need more answers before we can declare Obi-Wan fit for duty, and, well, recovered."

"And if we don't find those answers?"

Cielan's silence was her answer.

Mace Windu was waiting outside his room when Obi-Wan stepped through the doorway. Dressed like a Jedi, he felt like a Jedi again, not a patient. Seeing Mace straighten up at the sight of him, Obi-Wan made a face at Bant who smiled sweetly back at him.

"I'm just humoring the healers," Mace told him, correctly interpreting the look. "If you want, I'll shadow you back to your room – I won't go away, though, because I know the healers will dredge up some excuse to haul me here for shots or something if I allow you to leave on your own. Where's your padawan, Obi-Wan, shouldn't he be here to escort you with that stupid grin on his face he gets when he's delirious with joy?"

The sour way Mace said that last caused Bant to scurry away with her hand over her mouth, grinning.

"Unless you've locked him up, he is on leave, Mace," the Jedi reminded his friend. At the frown that greeted this, Obi-Wan sighed and crossed his arms. "You didn't, er, forbid him to actually take advantage of his justly deserved leave?"

"Who, me?" Mace threw up his hands in mock protest. "I just thought, well, considering how worried he was about you that he'd want to be here himself when you're released to his custody –"

"His custody?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Force help me. Maybe I should stay with the healers – it'd be safer." He turned around and took a step.

"All right, all right, you two can fight it out who has custody of who," Mace surrendered. He hesitated, and looked at Obi-Wan before adding carefully, "Even though you're released from the Healers Ward, you do know that you are not released from their custody? Until they give you a clean bill of health, well…." He seemed reluctant to finish his thought.

With Mace running interference, Obi-Wan made it through the sparsely crowded hallways without too many delays. He had stopped to exchange a few words with initiates and padawans between classes. He had been stopped along the way by several colleagues wanting to wish him a speedy recovery. A simple glare from the lead Council member managed to keep most of the latter encounters short if any threatened to turn lengthy. Even so, the trip had kept him on his feet longer than expected.

Knowing his friend's need to rest – and mindful of Bant's orders and the potential for consequences if he ignored them - Mace quickly took his leave after seeing his friend to his doorway, after Obi-Wan promised to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Standing in the open doorway, Obi-Wan just smiled and looked around. He was home at last. This place comforted him – the worn furnishings, the pleasant memories of master and padawan at rest – he first one, then the other.

He sniffed and smiled appreciatively at the distinctive aroma of Pongju tea and Tasala caf: Anakin had laid in a fresh store of both anticipating his master's return. Fresh, for the aroma of both dissipated after just several days in dry storage. This stock had been replenished no later than the previous evening.

He would celebrate familiar surroundings with whichever one caught his eye when he was ready. He wasn't tired enough to rest in bed, but before he could settle down on the couch with a datapad and hot cup, he would first have to retrieve said datapad from his room. In so doing, he could start the room's air to re-circulate since it was always stuffy and musty after a long absence. Walking into the room, Obi-Wan stopped short when he noted the neat pile of clothing on his bed with the case carefully perched on top.

"Oh," he said faintly, feeling almost emotional over a mere possession. He cherished it as much as the river rock that had been his thirteenth life day gift He slowly sat down and picked up the case, turning it over in his fingers, remembering the occasion of its gifting.

"_Another step closer, Padawan," Qui-Gon had said with a smile as he plaited another ribbon in the braid. He had excused himself, only to return and drop something into Obi-Wan's hands from behind. "We are allowed very few possessions, but some occasions need to be marked in some way and this can be one of the few you are allowed. I am proud of your growth in the ways of the Force. When you're a knight and away from my tutelage, this might let you remember your old master." _

_Obi-Wan smiled, covering his pleasure with teasing. "With your maxims and admonishments constantly running through my mind I could hardly forget you, Master, even should I wish to." He opened the case and saw the repair kit inside and smiled with genuine delight. "Master, thank you. A most practical gift as well as one I will greatly treasure."_

He sat on the bed now, in the room that once been Qui-Gon's, marveling that he had survived and returned to find memories as vivid as in his cell: of life with Qui-Gon, of life with his padawan. There was no doubt in his mind that Anakin had left it as he had; a pointed reminder of the life he was returning to.

Reckless and head strong, his padawan _was_ still that thoughtful person thinking of others; Qui-Gon would be pleased to know this young man who was fast growing into adulthood, perhaps soon to be a Jedi knight.

_Qui-Gon, I hope I've at least come close to living up to your expectations – both as the Jedi I grew into without you to guide me and as the mentor I've been to Anakin. I've made a lot of mistakes along the way, but you taught me to live in the here and now, not the past and not the future. Right now I am trying…I am trying so hard, but I can't quite do it. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't still miss you; I could use your presence right now, but I can imagine you're sitting here with me if I close my eyes._

A gentle breeze from the window wafted past his face, almost a soft caress against his cheek. With a smile on his face, he leaned back against his pillow and let the soothing memories of his past welcome him back, never feeling ghost arms wrap around him. It occurred to him once to wonder where Anakin was, but he shrugged it off. Anakin had had a rough time of it on Jabiim; he was entitled to some time of his own without his master's supervision no matter what Mace or others might think.

He stirred slightly when he felt a blanket drape over him and felt something removed from his hand as a warm hand touched his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, Master," Anakin said softly. "You need a lot of rest according to the healers."

Instead the Jedi pulled himself upright and leaned back against the pillow, glancing at the chrono. His eyes widened a bit. "I had quite a nap already, good thing I never did put water on to boil for tea."

He yawned and moved far enough over to give Anakin room to sit on the edge of the bed at his side. He saw this Anakin too little nowadays, gentle and compassionate, the same generous heart that had so quickly captured his and was too often nowadays kept hidden. He mourned the loss of the eager and innocent boy in this too often troubled and withdrawn young man – mourned the war that had changed so many of them and taken so many lives.

The aftereffects of Jabiim were giving him back this boy in the form of this young man.

"Thank you for bringing this back – you must know how I treasure it. I'm afraid it and my rock are the two attachments I've allowed myself, but hardly a serious transgression against the Code, I think."

"Attachments are directed at other persons, Master," Anakin corrected sternly, inwardly hiding a flash of guilt. "This comes under the 'no possessions' portion of the Code."

"What then of our lightsabers?" Obi-Wan grinned, and in unison both chanted, "It's not a possession, it's our life."

Both laughed. Anakin got up to leave; Obi-Wan's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Anakin, please, I really wish you would talk to me about Jabiim – it bothers you still, perhaps I can help. I saw it in your face on Riflor." _Let me give you what you need, be the master you deserve, my padawan._ His eyes searched Anakin's, waiting - hoping for Anakin's nod of acceptance of what his master's heart asked.

It didn't come.

Had it come, it might have served as a catalyst for some mutual confessions of inner turmoil, a tentative and first step towards a deeper understanding of each other.

If such were to come, it would have to come another time.

"How can you help me when you still need help yourself? No, Master, now's not the time. Perhaps - perhaps later." Anakin closed up, and Obi-Wan saw it was useless to pursue it at the moment. After a moment's hesitation, he reluctantly agreed.

"Another time, then. It'll do you good, and it's my job still to help guide you. Now, I don't know about you, but I actually have a bit of an appetite. Have you eaten already? Oh, well, I'll fix some soup or something."

"Let me, Master." Anakin stood up and smiled down at his master. "You have no idea how much pleasure doing something for you gives me – I kind of missed you, you know."

For just a second, a hurt little boy looked out of the man's eyes – a boy who was lost and alone. The same boy stunned silent in disbelief, hearing Padawan Kenobi trying to be as gentle as possible as he broke the news of Qui-Gon Jinn's death.

Though he could not have done otherwise, could not have left it to others, Obi-Wan would always know he would forever be the destroyer of one young boy's dreams. He had destroyed the boy's faith in the invincibility of Jedi, in his belief that good deeds were rewarded with a good and long life, and that good was rewarded with fairness. Despite a life as a slave, the boy had always believed in the triumph of good over evil.

Anakin Skywalker's dreams had been shattered more than once, by fate, by a Sith, and by a then Jedi padawan. By Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Somehow, on some level, that had always stood between them.

Not his fault, the Jedi knew; he, too, was caught up in events. He had so often been the bearer of bad tidings, but whether he wished it or not, he was all too often the pawn of fate, the one tasked with bringing both discipline and sorrow into his padawan's life.

Could he have done a better job? That uncertainty gnawed at him; a familiar ache unanswered by his heart, the Order, the Force – or even by Anakin himself.

It was an ache released to the Force, yet one rooted deep within him and thus quick to return. It was a flaw rooted in his own need to seek perfection and find it unattainable, and in the end, even he had to admit, proof that he would always be – human: fallible and imperfect.

And because of that, he feared he would fail Anakin and he would fail himself. To do otherwise would be to achieve perfection.

Failures and successes…in the end, it would be the summation of all that would define his life.

He knew he shouldn't feel guilty – he hadn't planned on being captured, hadn't planned to put his padawan through so much misery and pain on his behalf – but Obi-Wan knew from Bant and Siri just how badly the young man had suffered. No matter that he should have released the grief and anger – his padawan _had_ hurt – and that hurt the master in turn. A melancholy smile touched his face for a brief moment, and he did his best to release his guilt.

He needed to be strong, for them all, but especially for his padawan. Anakin needed his master; the padawan needed to be his master's priority now.

"I was happy you weren't with me," Obi-Wan said quietly, reaching out and grasping the young man's hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "So I guess you could say I didn't miss you, from a certain point of view."

"You and your 'certain point of view'," Anakin mimicked, grinning, easily picking up his master's attempt at humor. "By not being there with you, I'm free to take care of you now – from _my _point of view. You, my master, are stuck with me for the time being." He stuck his head back in the door and grinned smugly. "And what I say goes, right?"

He ducked just before a thrown pillow caught him in the face.

"No unnecessary and frivolous use of the Force, Master," drifted back through the open doorway.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan grinned. Sometimes his padawan really did listen to him, if only to spout back his own words.


	54. Specters of the Dark

Anakin rubbed heavy eyes and stifled a yawn.

Watching over another at sleep was getting to be a bad habit, he decided –this imitating a crèche-master in training. Not that he minded terribly – it was his master after all – but minding his master meant Obi-Wan was still in need of minding, at least for a while.

Only for Obi-Wan would he - had he - told Padme he would be unable to visit for a few nights. His dear, understanding wife had only smiled sadly and told her husband that Obi-Wan needed him more than she did – after all, they had spent almost every night together since Anakin had brought Obi-Wan home from Rattatak.

Only later had he found Obi-Wan's return was to be kept quiet for the moment. Padme had been disappointed to find she could not visit her dear friend, for she, too, loved Obi-Wan and had mourned his death nearly as deeply as her husband. Anakin had promised that as soon as the news of Obi-Wan's return was no longer secret, she would be one of the first outsiders to visit.

That time had not yet come.

In a few days the Senate would be adjourned. Padme would, as planned, return to Naboo, but rather than go directly to the lake retreat – the scene of their wedding – she would visit her family first, with the hope that Anakin could join her shortly after.

That depended on Obi-Wan.

Once again, Anakin was torn between his master and his wife, between duty and desire.

Guilt that he wished Obi-Wan's release wouldn't come until after his return from Naboo meant Anakin was now never too far from his master's side, no further than the other side of the Temple unless just away on a quick errand or visit.

These ongoing nightmares that woke his master up trembling and shaking since being weaned off the sedatives – that session in the bacta chamber - showed Anakin that life was not so easily back to normal, not near so quickly as he had hoped and believed. His master was looking physically far healthier; he would seem to be fine in almost all ways only to occasionally freeze in place, hands trembling and his eyes unfocused until called back to the present.

Before Obi-Wan's release, Cielan had advised Anakin not to let the nightmares worry him unless the reaction became extreme. If possible, she wanted him to encourage Obi-Wan to share what he could of the nightmares, for she hoped the connection between master and padawan – even if currently weak due to Obi-Wan's lack of Force strength - would alleviate the worst of the nightmares and allow the padawan at least a glimpse of the terrors in the night.

She hadn't counted on Obi-Wan's wish to not burden his padawan, or his padawan's eventual belief that his master did not wish to share his nightmares with anyone – including Anakin.

Unbeknownst to Anakin, Obi-Wan did _not_ remember the dreams upon waking – those fears were still bottled up inside and battling to get out. He did not speak, for his conscious mind had nothing to reveal.

Only his nightmares spoke – and the message was yet hidden.

There had been no nightmares the first night.

The two Jedi had sat up far too late; just comfortable to once again be in the other's presence, at peace and feeling little need for words. Quiet, serene moments together were to be cherished; were nearly forgotten moments from a past the other side of both men's ordeal.

With a cup of tea nearby, Obi-Wan had claimed the couch and Anakin the old chair. Between reminisces and laughter, they would fall silent, only to glance at each other and exchange smiles.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning Obi-Wan had drifted to sleep against the corner of the couch. Not wanting to disturb what seemed a peaceful slumber, the padawan had made his master a little more comfortable by tucking a pillow under his head. After then draping a soft blanket over him, Anakin had just sat and studied this man who had come to mean so much to him.

No nightmares had disturbed either one of them, that night, both sleeping peaceably in the dim light of a lamp turned low, for Anakin had then, too, fallen asleep in his chair as he watched over his master.

Come the morning and with the knowledge that Obi-Wan wouldn't be long alone, with Mace, Yoda, Siri and others sure to visit, Anakin came and went during the day. Nightmares were but distant memories in the days; specters of the dark only.

Every so often he'd be drawn back as if by a magnet, and always, Obi-Wan would look up from whatever he was doing and smile in greeting as he walked through the door. No shadows, none, all he found was just a master recuperating and resting.

Now this night, the second since his release, Obi-Wan slept where he belonged, in his bed; this night as well Anakin would sleep in his own once he made his way there.

This night, Anakin stood in an open doorway, again studying his sleeping master – still marveling at the sight of a man who looked so much healthier than the one who had returned to the Temple not so long ago.

The bedside lamp was dim, just leaving enough illumination for him to see Obi-Wan clearly: the now healed hands lightly lying at his side, the steady rise and fall of a chest no longer too tender to be touched, the growing and still sparse beard that would restore Obi-Wan to the master he had known from the apparent padawan he had first met, so many years ago.

"It's good to have you home and nearly well, Master," he offered softly. Before leaving Obi-Wan to his peaceful rest he frowned a little. It was not like Obi-Wan to leave a light on when he slept, just as his current posture in bed was not his usual one of half-sprawling all over the bed on his stomach. He lay now, compact and – well, guarded – Anakin might call it, arms close to his side and knees partially drawn up to his chest, the light blanket only up to his waist.

The weight of the blanket had seemed too much for him at first, Bant had said softly, once they had weaned him from sedatives and painkillers, resting on his nearly healed wounds. It was the weight of his memories, not the blanket, both had instinctively understood.

Someday Obi-Wan would again sleep on his side or stomach, blanket up to his chest, no dreams to disturb his rest. Someday Obi-Wan would again touch the Force as easily as he breathed, and someday Obi-Wan would again the man who needed no one to be at his side because that place was taken by the Force.

Someday was drawing ever closer. Anakin could feel it – in the way Obi-Wan smiled, in the way he greeted his friends, and in the way he spoke in pleasant conversation.

To celebrate Obi-Wan's steps towards recovery and his return to his own quarters, Anakin had invited Siri, Bant, Yoda, Mace and Adi to join them for last meal. All had eagerly accepted.

Oh, long overdue revenge was going to be sweet. Anakin could have hugged Obi-Wan for the gift of the means.

Everyone was relaxed and hungry; the stage was set. Not even Obi-Wan knew what Anakin had prepared. Now they were all gathered round, anticipating the main course.

"I prepared a very special dish," Anakin said, stepping into the small kitchen. He returned with an innocent beam of delight on his face. He passed the entrée under Mace Windu's nose and set the serving dish down with a flourish directly in front of the Korun master.

Mace's eyes bulged as the fish stared calmly back at him.

"Argh," he choked and paled; his chair scraped back. With supreme effort of will, worthy of a Jedi council member, Mace forced a smile on his face to cover his fear. That was so pathetic that Anakin took pity on him for the first time ever in his life and quickly removed the plate for some culinary excision with a quick "Excuse me, how could I have forgotten to cut the fish into serving portions first."

Yoda's ears twitched. Siri quickly excused herself and rushed to the fresher where her peal of laughter ran out a minute later. Adi looked as serene as ever while Bant looked mystified.

Obi-Wan passed a hand across his face to hide his grin, but his shoulders were shaking with restrained mirth. His chuckle finally demanded release, followed by a full laugh. Mace glared at him before his look softened.

"_Master_ Kenobi – you should be in deep trouble for putting your pesky apprentice up to this, except – it's so darn good to hear you laugh that not only will I forgive you – _and_ young Skywalker – but I'll say job well done."

"Forgive _me_?" Obi-Wan tried to look utterly innocent, but failed miserably.

Watching from the kitchen as he sliced the fish, Anakin didn't fail to catch, however, Obi-Wan's lean and whisper into Master Windu's ear. Retaliation was already being set up, for why else would the man look so grim while so pleased to see his friend relaxing and laughing?

Anakin smiled. Maybe Master Windu was a good sort, after all, underneath that scowl. Who'd have thought pranks might bring two Jedi a bit closer together – of course, he admitted, it would take a number of pranks to achieve any kind of comfort with the stern Korun master.

That prank hadn't even been the highlight of Anakin's evening – no, and he was sure, what came next had to be something that Obi-Wan himself would remember for a long, long time.

Siri had been the last to leave, and prompted by Anakin's anything but subtle hint had finally been forced to deliver on the promise of long ago to kiss Obi-Wan.

With his eyes gleaming, he asked, "Master, have I told you how good Bant and Siri were to me when I was so worried about you?"

Not only did Anakin want that on record, but as he knew it would, it would make his master appreciative and thankful and thus far less likely to scold him afterwards for what he was about to precipitate – if he was lucky.

"Siri." Obi-Wan's eyes were suddenly warm with gratitude, just as Anakin had predicted. "I can't thank you enough for being there for my padawan when he needed a friend. I might even be more grateful than he is."

"I doubt that, Master," Anakin said cheerfully. He cleared his throat and threw a meaningful look towards Obi-Wan, grateful for the after dinner coffee and mint dessert if his hint had the desired effect. "So, Siri, did you ever, ah, do what we discussed? You never did tell."

At the look exchanged between the two, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and leaned forward curiously. "Did Anakin put you up to something?"

It was now time to sit back and watch the fun, so Anakin crossed his arms and leaned back, a mischievous smile playing over his lips.

"Um, well, he told me I owed you a kiss is all."

"Oh, dear." Obi-Wan choked as he swallowed, and Anakin was quickly at his side, pounding him on his back.

"Sorry, Master, I didn't think you were that averse to physical contact. I just thought one kiss deserved another. Did you even try, or did Master Stone-Face scare you off, Siri?"

_That should do the job _– Siri couldn't back down from a challenge, especially when the gauntlet had been thrown at her feet. Behind Obi-Wan's back, Anakin grinned innocently as Siri's eyes narrowed at him – she had taken the bait. Now all he had to do was stand back and watch. This was going to be fun!

_Oh, if Anakin only knew_. Siri hid her smile. She could see Obi-Wan remembered as well; he dropped his eyes but the corner of his mouth quirked up. Concern and slight amusement was intermixed with some other quite unreadable emotion as well.

Looking steadily at Obi-Wan all the while, Siri addressed her words to Anakin.

"Your master doesn't scare me, Anakin, he never has. Actually, I did give him a little kiss – on the forehead, didn't I, Obi-Wan?" At his nod of agreement, Siri smiled brightly. "With Master Yoda and Healer Neille there I went easy on him. You were right, Anakin, the expression on his face was priceless. Master Yoda even chuckled."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Anakin said, sounding disappointed. Siri saw how Obi-Wan carefully avoided looking at her and knew he was thinking of the other kisses that had followed that, and his determination that his padawan was not going to know of _those_.

A grin crossed her face. _Why not?_ Obi-Wan caught her look and before he could avoid her, Siri stood and sashayed over to Obi-Wan, slid onto his lap and kissed him, long and thoroughly.

The kiss was long and intense, so much so that she knew she wouldn't be able to speak one coherent word to save her life. There was nothing Obi-Wan could do about it except wave his arms helplessly, for Siri was sure they wanted to wrap around her as much as she wanted them to do the same, but at least he'd been given a second's warning to prepare.

With all the aplomb and self-control of a Jedi master, Obi-Wan managed to raise one eyebrow and appear not at all flustered as he chided, "Now, Siri," as she calmly slid off Ob-Wan's lap, stood up and returned to her seat, albeit a bit weak-kneed.

"Was that satisfactory, Anakin?" she asked, trying to control her breathing as Obi-Wan hid his reaction behind a hand stroking his chin, though he was trying desperately not to blush.

Apparently it was. The look on the padawan's face was priceless.

_Damn, that was a hot kiss_, Anakin thought. How could his master just – just sit there – and then he noticed just how still Obi-Wan was. The man was – he tried not to stare – oh, he hid it well indeed, but there was the faintest of flushes on his face and that degree of stillness betrayed immense and deliberate self-control. So Obi-Wan wasn't quite as immune to the opposite sex as he'd always thought.

He was sure Obi-Wan would be quite unsteady on his feet – if he could even walk after that – should Anakin ask him. He glanced down – and had an idea.

"Would you mind fetching the pot of caf, Master?" he asked, oh-so-innocently, inwardly chortling away.

"When I finish my cup, Padawan."

"But you already finished it!" Anakin protested.

"Not entirely," Obi-Wan mumbled and avoided Anakin's attempt to lean forward for a look into it by quickly raising it to his lips.

After Siri left, Obi-Wan rested on the couch for a while as Anakin cleaned up before admitting his yawns were his cue to go to bed. "Excitement of being kissed," Anakin teased him as the reason he'd even stayed up so late.

"Remembering the expression on Mace's face," Obi-Wan corrected. He shook his head and added, "Padawans, nowadays. Who teaches them these things?"

He blithely ignored Anakin's snort and headed for his room with a smile on his face.

Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes at his padawan when he stuck his head in just minutes later and muttered something about being perfectly capable of putting himself to bed. They'd both grinned, but just as Anakin turned out the overhead light Obi-Wan turned on the bedside lamp with a half-shameful remark that just walking to his room had cleared his mind of cobwebs and he would read for a while.

These first nights back had Anakin hyper-vigilant. If Obi-Wan had another severe nightmare like the last one he had had in the Healers Ward, he vowed he would be there to snap him out of it.

So here he was, one final time standing just inside Obi-Wan's room before heading to his own. He'd already stopped to listen to Obi-Wan's regular breathing from the hall several times already this night; only now as he was getting ready to go to bed himself had he noticed the faint light still shining under the door.

"It's good to have you home and nearly well, Master. Sleep well," he offered softly, and with a wave of his hand, used the Force to flick off the bedside lamp.

The room went dark.

Obi-Wan tossed and twisted, trying to get away – a soft whimper escaped his lips.

_The dark was here to claim him! _

Footsteps padded towards him.

Soft _footsteps_ – so soft for something so evil and he would soon hear breathing –

- "shh, now…" -

He'd _hear_ quick, hard pants as the anticipation built within her of today's perverted pleasures…she would suddenly be there – begin again in the dark…hands on his flesh, pain … always so much pain….

"Hush now…you're safe."

_Those hands were on him now…cradling his face in a parody of caring…_

"Master, wake up."

_The hands – moist with blood – moist with fear – he could feel the fear mist his skin, or was it blood, his own? Wet, he was wet, he could feel the dampness against his skin. _

"Obi-Wan, Master, please. Stop screaming, please."

_Have to endure – have to open my eyes and face her – I can't let her win – can't let fear and pain defeat me…._

"Master." The tone was tender, the hand against his forehead warm and gentle. "Shhh, it's just a dream. That's right, wake up or go back to sleep, but don't dream. Don't dream. I'm here to protect you – it's Anakin."

_Familiar – warm – safe – for Anakin had come. Such relief: Anakin!_

"An-akin…?"

"Expecting anyone else?" The voice was strained but a sliver of relief cut through the strain. "Shh, Master, wake up - it was just a dream, just a dream."

The tone was still tender, the hand against his forehead still warm and gentle and the eyes – once his own were open – were the concerned eyes of his padawan.

"Anakin?" At the nod, Obi-Wan fell limply back against his pillow, swiping a hand across his eyes. "Was it – another bad one?"

"Yeah. They're getting worse, aren't they, Master?"

"How should I know – I don't remember them." The attempt at humor fell flat. Anakin didn't acknowledge the attempt; his mouth flattened.

"You're supposed to be getting better."

"I am."

"What do you call this?"

"Getting better." Anakin glared at him, and Obi-Wan sighed. "Cielan says they'll get worse before they get better." He squirmed suddenly and his face flushed as his eyes dropped involuntarily. He shivered, memories of filthy clothing flooding back. He tried to cover it with a shrug of his shoulders and embarrassed grin.

"Oh, joy, I see this one came with the involuntary bodily reactions. That's supposed to be another good sign." He made a face, threw back the covers and headed for the fresher, grabbing fresh sleep pants as he went.

_Oh._ Obi-Wan would be rather embarrassed by that, especially in front of his padawan, dreading the teasing he was sure would follow. Disregarding it might be worse, Anakin persuaded himself. Teasing would be normal in this circumstance, so Anakin would pretend this was a normal circumstance.

"If you keep going through sleep pants at two per night, you're soon going to have to wear your present from oh, so long ago," Anakin shouted after him. That might actually be a good thing - that nightmare of a monstrosity might just scare the nightmares right out of Obi-Wan.

"Now there's an incentive to recover," Obi-Wan muttered sourly. As much as he appreciated his padawan's attempt to distract him from embarrassment with teasing, the picture painted in his mind was worse than his damp sleep pants were in reality.

"Better nothing than those," he called back.

"Spare my eyes that, Master. If you decide to sleep sans night clothing, I'll make sure to talk Siri into keeping an eye on you. Heck, if that kiss was even one part serious, I bet she would even volunteer for night duty."

Anakin, of course, was merely having fun teasing his master, so he didn't listen for a reply.

It was a good thing Obi-Wan was already showering. The sound of the water silenced the thud of the dropped soap.

If anything, Obi-Wan drifted back to sleep long before his padawan. Chased out of the room by an affectionate yet stern grumble to "rest before I sleep-suggestion _you_," Anakin none-the-less kept his door and one ear open for the rest of the night – and the nights that followed.

His nights continued to be disturbed by nightmares – and silence on the contents of those dreams. Obi-Wan claimed he didn't remember – but Anakin couldn't be entirely sure of that.

The padawan hoped his master needed him, yet when Anakin came to his side to wake him from the nightmares plaguing his sleep, his master would smile wanly, accept a damp cloth patting clean his face of tears and sweat, curl his fingers around the padawan's in thanks - and send him back to bed once the fear and panic faded from his eyes.

He would not speak of the terrors that disturbed his sleep nor as yet the ordeal that spawned the nightmares. He always claimed he did not remember them.

"He's still having nightmares, bad ones," Anakin uneasily informed Cielan, dropping in the next day. "He's seems to have pretty much put most of this behind him so why is he still having nightmares – they seem to be getting worse."

Cielan brought him into her office and sat down next to him.

"It'll take time, Padawan. Your master badly wants to be himself, so badly he's made himself well – consciously. This stubbornness is holding back his full recovery, but that very stubbornness will also eventually see him through this. The mental scars will last longer than the physical ones, but as he regains his strength and his connection to the Force, he will be better able to deal with his experiences. Until he can consciously face and release the emotions to the Force, they will seek release through his nightmares."

It made a kind of sense to Anakin, but it didn't help any. He wanted answers, not reasons. He wanted his master to be free and to be recovered.

"I understand what you're saying, but why would he hold on to things that only hurt him? He never holds onto any emotions – they always pass through him as if they never existed. Until recently, sometimes – sometimes I used to wonder if he even had feelings. I know now how wrong I was, but – but he never has really 'held on' to anything, not like – like this."

"Padawan." Cielan smiled gently. "All beings have emotions, even the most serene of Jedi, even your master, even if you aren't privy to them, so I'm glad your eyes have been opened. Master Kenobi right now is full of emotions that he can't handle as he is used to doing. He hasn't regained his full connection to the Force, and he has been badly scarred inside. What he endured was not easy, even for a Jedi, and now he's having trouble releasing those emotions. Sometimes they just pop out – sometimes inappropriately and sometimes in a manner you're not used to seeing – euphoria, teasing, lighthearted play, even."

The mood swings – startling for a man of his master's temperament – made more sense now. The abrupt break in his sentences from time to time, the inability to find the word or phrase he wanted - it all made a kind of sense now. When he expressed this to Cielan, the healer agreed with a nod.

"It's safe now for him to be weak, to be scared, and to hurt, but he hasn't realized that yet. He tried to be strong, to survive during his ordeal and that kept him going. He's still trying to be strong now that he doesn't need to be. He needs to accept that it is safe for him to be weak, not to fight it. Especially without the Force, for that is the only way he really has to face it – otherwise, he is hiding from it. Unfortunately, now he thinks it's over, but the hard part is now – for him, for his friends – for his padawan. He will need your understanding and patience."

"When will he have the Force back?"

"Neille is working on that; we hope to find an answer soon." Cielan patted his hands and sat back. "Either the Force will return to help him release everything, or – everything's that's so bottled up and unexpressed will eventually force its way out somehow. When that comes, if it comes to that, he'll probably be rather less than pleasant to be around as the pressure builds. It's normal, but it might be frightening, it may be aggravating and it may be frustrating to witness, but the pressure does need an outlet eventually."

"He'll be grumpy."

"Grumpy is putting it mildly. Cranky, angry, dismissive – don't take it personally, padawan. Do your best to let it blow over, because knowing the man that Obi-Wan Kenobi is, the more you react to his behavior, the more guilt and shame he'll feel afterwards. Remain calm; walk away if you need to, but please do not respond in kind. Can you do that for your master?"

Anakin had to trust the healer was right, but he had his doubts. He promised to do as she asked.

The doubts mounted with the next night and the next nightmare and all those that followed.

Mere nights after his release from the Healers, Obi-Wan had another bad nightmare, one of the worst yet since his return to quarters.

Anakin startled awake, his heart pounding as silent anguish roiled through the Force. He almost called his lightsaber to his hand before realizing the source and he hurried to Obi-Wan's room, skidding to a stop as he realized Obi-Wan was twisted in pain.

"Obi-Wan?" he dropped to his knees beside his master's bedside, reaching a tentative hand to the man's shoulder and shaking it gently. "Master, what is it?"

Obi-Wan only moaned, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Master? Are you in pain?"

"H..hurts…." He only shook his head uncontrollably when Anakin pressed him to explain just what hurt so badly to cause tears. "It just hurts…is all."

"What hurts, Master? Should I call a healer?"

"So dark…," came a halting response, a mere breath. "Drowning..."

"You're not drowning, Master, you're in your bed – maybe a little damp from sweat but not drowning."

"Evil…clawing at me, falling – falling – falling."

Anakin ventured a hand onto Obi-Wan's shoulder. He felt helpless and uncertain. Memories flooded him, times when his mother and Obi-Wan both had comforted him, and with those memories came his answer.

He sat at Obi-Wan's side and gathered his master in his arms and held the shaking body. He felt almost insubstantial, a wraith, still-thin shoulders protruding through the thin material of his sleep shirt. "Shhh," he whispered. "Shhh, you're safe now, I won't let anything hurt you ever again, Master."

Obi-Wan curled into Anakin's embrace as the padawan rocked his master back to sleep, not sure if Obi-Wan chose not to answer or if he was still in the throes of the nightmare, merely giving voice to its pain. He sent a warm tendril of Force out to his master, to have it greedily absorbed as if only it had the power to banish the memories.

With a soft whimper of released pain, the Jedi passed into now quiet, normal sleep.

Once again, his master proved he needed the Force more than his padawan – and Anakin was jealous. He knew it, was not happy with himself, but he admitted the truth – and because it soothed Obi-Wan, he sent more of the Force to wrap itself around the tormented mind – aided by a strong sleep suggestion - until normal sleep claimed the Jedi.

If his master didn't need him at his side, only the Force itself, Anakin knew someone who did. Padme always welcomed his presence; needed him in her arms as much as he needed to be within them.

His master needed no one, wanted no one, so Anakin found a way to leave without guilt: he pressed a sleep suggestion against the sleeping man's mind each night before the nightmares started.

He resumed his nightly slipping out of the Temple to his waiting wife, returning well before dawn – resentful, always resentful, of the need to sneak, to leave before morning's light, to leave a warm bed and loving arms because love – his love – had to be on a schedule to remain hidden. Only when his master had been confined to the healers ward had he had the freedom to go and the freedom to stay.

Because of that certainty of not being needed, he had no way to know that his master had more than once called out for him during the nights, and more than once had only fallen asleep once exhaustion overcame the horrors of the nightmares.

Even when asleep, his padawan's presence had been comforting, the faint touch of the bond always present despite Obi-Wan's Force fluctuations, weakening and strengthening as did the Force, but always there – but stronger with proximity, as well.

Even in his sleep he only wanted the assurance of Anakin's presence – only the knowledge that he was near, proof that the darkness that threatened to swallow him was nothing more than the night, that he was not alone in the dark with only tears and screams to keep him company. Turning on a light only pushed back the boundary of the dark; a gentle touch dispelled it; but one night - that night, there was no such touch when he needed it most.

That was the night that Anakin had returned to find nearly every light in the quarters blazing, with his master curled up hugging his knees in the middle of the floor, sound asleep. Never knowing why, never asking why, Anakin had picked his master up and carried him back to his bed.

"You came," Obi-Wan muttered, slightly wakening for a moment as Anakin changed his sweat-soaked sleep clothes for fresh ones.

"Of course," Anakin agreed as he tucked the disheveled coverings around his master. He pressed another, stronger sleep suggestion against the tired mind with a hand against his forehead.

"'Preciate that," Obi-Wan mumbled, patting Anakin's hand and nestling into the cocoon of his bed and drifting back to sleep, mumbling, "safe now…Ani's here…t' protect me. Safe."

Though it hurt to see his master like this, the words warmed Anakin's heart. There was something indeed the padawan could do for the master. Just be there, as Obi-Wan had once asked.

_"You can be a source of strength I can draw on. I will need that strength when I falter."_

"I'm here, Master. I'm here now," he whispered, dropping a kiss on the now quiet brow.

That night it was the apprentice who could not find solace in sleep.


	55. May the Force Forgive Us

To think of the abominations she would shortly speak of - and to think of Obi-Wan Kenobi at the same time - was fast draining Adi Gallia's capacity for serenity.

Yet intricately tied together were both, not easily separated, for one begat the other, and in turn, begat her report.

The Jedi master sat in Council, waiting for Mace's nod to begin, using a Jedi calming technique. What she had to speak of was quite the opposite of pleasant; she now knew far more than she wished on the cruelty beings could inflict on others after her research.

Yet her voice betrayed none of her inner horror at her discoveries when it was time to speak.

"I shall not go into the details of Sith torture devices as listed in the addendum to my report – this Council does not need to know those details; suffice it to say it goes beyond cruelty and even beyond evil – but the intent of all such is to ultimately drive the afflicted into insanity or darkness, if not ultimately death. A victim driven far enough would indeed be better off dead than alive; short of that extremity the victim is no longer able to distinguish what is right and what is wrong. They are forever lost once they have lost the capacity to distinguish between them."

"A horrible fate indeed, for one devoted to the light," Mace murmured. "Have you or the healers been able to determine yet just how far Master Kenobi was pushed?"

"Not yet," Adi said softly. "It is apparent that Master Kenobi was driven to experience many of these dark tortures; that the horror of it continues to afflict him through his nightmares. How deeply affected he is cannot yet be determined, or if he can eventually rid himself of the demons in his dreams."

In each Jedi's own way, every Council member present absorbed the unwelcome but not surprising news. Having previously heard Arc Trooper Alpha's report, this came as no real shock, yet each found it deeply disturbing just the same.

Those who had glanced at Adi's addendum released their horror and repugnance to the Force; with most it was hard to tell if Adi's words, the thought of Obi-Wan enduring such, or the details of the devices were the most horrific to contemplate.

Clearing his throat to draw everyone's attention, Mace steepled his fingers and looked at each Jedi, one by one, his words meant as a reminder to those who needed one.

"As Master Kenobi is in no capacity to reassume any real duties as yet, thankfully we have more time to reflect on the consequences of his ordeal and hope for his full recovery. Master Gallia, the Council understands Master Kenobi has been released to quarters, though he is still under the healers' care, correct?"

Adi nodded, the memory of Mace's stricken face as he faced the fish at dinner the other night and Obi-Wan's soft chuckles at the same a reminder that they spoke of a real person with wounds to his soul all but unfathomable to contemplate; that Obi-Wan was not just an item on the agenda for the day.

"His physical wounds are all but healed, and his mental wounds are insufficient to keep him under constant medical surveillance. Other than the nightmares he does seem to be functioning well, though his behavior is not always consistent with the Master Kenobi we are familiar with."

"How so?" Mace asked, leaning forward as if just now hearing this. The _dance political_ – Adi was suddenly sick and tired of the game, yet everything they said or did was done for a purpose. Yoda, Mace and Adi had already discussed much of her report and the ramifications, but the entire Council was just now being made privy to the details, and Mace was the one skillfully drawing the information out for the benefit of the others.

"His emotional control is damaged. A major part of that is due to the constant fluctuation in his connection to the Force; at its worst, Master Kenobi would not be accepted into the Order were he tested now. The healers have said it would be easier to have the Force absent for a time and then return. Just as he begins to rely on the Force again, it is drawn away from him leaving him floundering for a foundation."

Before Adi could continue, another member raised the question Adi, Mace and Yoda had hoped would not be openly voiced. The council was made up of Jedi masters – each one intelligent and not easily led – and capable of forming thoughts and opinions contrary to the others.

Not one amongst them would have it any other way – yet, at times as now, such could be downright – unwelcome.

"Can the healers ascertain the nature of these nightmares – is it the horror of his experience, or darkness attempting to claim him? I do truly regret raising this issue, but can the healers reassure the Council of Master Kenobi's integrity?" One of the heretofore-silent members now spoke up.

"Integrity, Counselor?"

Yoda had been watching with half-hooded eyes but now he looked full at her with sad and pain-filled eyes. Adi bite back a sharp retort. Yoda nodded in approval.

"The healers and those who know him best are fully convinced that Obi-Wan's integrity is not compromised, only his health." Using his first name was deliberate on Adi's part; a pointed reminder that they knew this man as friend and colleague.

When she finished speaking, there was silence in the Council chamber.

"He has not been compromised by his ordeal – the healers can swear to that?"

Without looking, Adi knew Yoda's eyes were cast to the floor; he was leaving it to her to speak what they had wished not to speak, to damn a good man by the truth – their lack of utter and complete certainty.

"There _is_ something Obi-Wan has not been able to speak of; it is locked within him. The nature of this – is yet unknown."

"He _could_ be – tainted, then, and unfit to sit on this Council."

The unthinkable – had now been voiced.

**

"I thought I'd find you here," Siri stood over Obi-Wan, shaking her head in amusement. "Do you live here?"

With a shake of his head, the Jedi looked up and patted the seat next to him.

"Not talking today?

A smile hovered about Obi-Wan's lips.

"You're a lot of company."

Obi-Wan looked hurt. "Just being here with me isn't enough? Must we talk? Can't we just listen?"

Siri's face softened. "What are we listening to?"

"We?" He raised an eyebrow. "The Force, well, I'm trying to," he amended. "I can always find it here, in the scent of the Haleothe blossoms or in the splash of the fountains. So far today I haven't felt it, not tangibly, but it's here. I _know_ that when sometimes otherwise I…doubt."

A content smile spread across his face as Siri sent the Force to wrap around him. It was the strangest phenomenon; the Force had little trouble reaching Obi-Wan, but the Jedi could not reach back. Siri could not imagine being without the Force – it would be like having the ability to see, to touch, to smell taken away with no promise of its return. At its lowest ebb, Obi-Wan's sensitivity was too slight for a younger version of himself to even be accepted into the Order.

Not necessarily one of the most powerful Force users in the Order, Obi-Wan was one of the most skilled and at his best, one of the Jedi most in tune with the Force.

Now he couldn't just merge into it as he was used to doing. Now he – doubted – not the Force, Siri knew, but what exactly did he doubt? Whether he would regain his connection? Whether the Force doubted him? Certainly, he did not doubt himself, did he?

"Is Anakin taking good care of you?"

"He hovers," Obi-Wan complained good-naturedly. "He's being the padawan most of us expect to have when we approach our knighting – I want my padawan back, not this counterfeit one I don't know. I want the one that rolls his eyes at me, charges ahead without permission, and the one that is always on the go, never willing to just sit and talk - well, I must say I do enjoy conversing with him now that he actually sits still at times. I've found myself talking about things I'd nearly forgotten over the years."

"Like the time you and Qui-Gon were on that mission to Ranull –"

It was hard to continue with a hand over her mouth. Obi-Wan's eyes were dancing though his voice was stern. "Anakin does _not_ need to hear about that one, okay – even Qui-Gon and I never spoke of it afterwards."

**

Cielan studied the councilwoman, shaking her head. "You are asking me to do something without my patient's consent."

"Healer E'Shon, we ask – the Council asks – that you allay our concerns. This is one of those times that the greater good outweighs the one."

As a healer, Cielan's duty was to the one – her patient. Her tone was frosty as she shook her head at the regal woman who sat before her. She could see that Adi Gallia did not like to ask what she had, but resigned determination overrode her distaste at her request.

"It is not necessary and highly irregular. No, I understand the Council's 'concerns' especially in a time of war, but, no. Not without Obi-Wan's specific consent."

"He has given his consent by his oath to the Force upon his ascension to the Council."

Not only did Adi believe what she spoke, but Cielan was sure Obi-Wan would agree, as well. Oaths at knighting were vows to be obedient to the Force's will, to do what was necessary for the greater good and she was, equally sure, far more binding upon ascension to the very governing body of the Order.

However, _her_ oath was equally as binding, and this clearly was not a case where the Force spoke to her that obedience to its will came before her oath as a healer.

Strangely enough, the Force was silent on the request, neither condemning nor approving of this latest Council idiocy, as if it detested the means yet foresaw an eventual positive outcome.

"He has not given his assent to me."

The two women stared at each other. Adi was the first to break the silence. She leaned back and nodded in defeat. Relief, thanks, and regret tinged her Force presence.

"Thank you. I didn't like asking this."

"No, you didn't." Cielan smiled, leaning back now that a truce was drawn.

"Have you a better suggestion, Healer E'Shon? Obi-Wan has already suffered greatly. Would you add to that – Obi-Wan has devoted his life to the Force, and to have his integrity questioned would only add to his suffering. Perhaps after all that he experienced, he questions that himself. The Council has insisted that it must know if he has been compromised by the Sith. The Council wishes an immediate answer."

Adi hesitated, then changing pronouns, she said, "I believe Obi-Wan would have found a way to die before turning; I believe in Obi-Wan's strength to resist, but I do not _know_. I will not have him languish in doubt or despair, when the means of assuaging those doubts are at hand, though I personally would prefer he be given time to heal and recover."

So, the Council was deeply divided on the issue. Adi Gallia was trying to make the best of a horrible situation. What she – they – asked was risky, but not unacceptably so and any possible harm short-term. It had the potential to be beneficial, as well, even if that was only the slightest of possibilities.

As a healer she could not refuse on her patient's behalf; he had the right to make that decision for himself, no matter her personal feelings on the subject.

"He has to consent, and he has to be told it might set him back. Even if Obi-Wan doesn't remember them, even if we shield those memories until he is consciously ready to face them, they will probably affect him, perhaps badly. Depending on how near they are to surfacingt, they might even explode on him in which case I cannot guarantee shields will hold them back. Therefore I will advise him that this is not in his best interest to accede to the Council's _request_."

"It is in the galaxy's best interest." Elegant fingers rubbed Adi's brow, a rare gesture of weariness and resignation. "We are at war; we need him on the Council; we can't afford to lose his wisdom but he won't be allowed to remain on it if the Council retains any doubts. It won't – irreparably harm him; will it, if there is a negative reaction?"

The Council member and the healer exchanged a long look; their hearts in sympathy with each other but their minds diametrically opposed. Adi Gallia the woman agreed with the healer, but Jedi Master Gallia was pursuing a distasteful duty.

"I don't think so." Cielan pursed her lips, but honesty compelled her answer. "His records indicate great personal strength – and if we get the Force functioning within him again – no, I don't think any lasting harm will be done – except possibly to his ability to trust us – you, the Council – fully. In the short term – I foresee the possibility of harm. I don't like it, not in the slightest, but as I said, I'll compromise. We must obtain Obi-Wan's permission – and I shall be the one to broach the subject."

A sad smile graced Adi's face. "He will give it. He will consider it his duty."

"Yes, he will and I'm afraid that means he's not given a real choice."

Adi shut her eyes as if she hated to ask her last question. Leaning forward she fixed the healer with a solemn gaze. "Do we tell him that failure to consent may mean his dismissal from the Council or will that knowledge alone affect any possibility of a full recovery?"

Meeting Adi's eyes with her own, Cielan said, "It depends on what doubts he harbors already. He may be relieved to have this out in the open and it may create doubt where none exists. As yet we have not been able to touch the mental aftereffects to any degree and his nightmares shed little light as he seems unable to recall them upon waking. If the Council insists on this, and he agrees, we will find out. The Force is giving me no guidance on this."

"May the Force forgive us for what we are about to ask of a good man," Adi said heavily, standing up. A look of pure sadness crossed her features as she added softly, "Whether or not it does, Obi-Wan certainly will. He has a stunning capacity to forgive that exceeds even his compassion. He will forgive us; it's not in his character to do otherwise."

**

Obi-Wan's hurt and angry eyes continued to haunt Siri.

How could it have gone so wrong after a pleasant time reminiscing? They had laughed at past missions and winced at mistakes made. Obi-Wan had been as relaxed and at peace as Siri had seen her friend since his return - until her stupid, innocent prank and then the hurtful words that had followed.

They'd been talking about the weather on Sea'Attlele Prime: how two people could stand side by side and one be bathed in sunshine while the other was bathed in rain during the "off season." To dry off, one merely switched positions with the other. Remembering how unpredictable it was, Siri used the Force to teasingly drip some water down the back of Obi-Wan's neck.

His head whipped around as if he'd been stung, and his eyes were both angry and hurt when he glared at her. "Don't do that," he snapped.

"It's just water, Obi-Wan." How many times as younglings had they played these pranks on each other, delighting in their growing control of the Force as they learned to direct even water droplets down each other's backs?

"No, it's not. It was a memory, okay."

"Oh, Obi, I'm sorry – I didn't know. Tell me."

For a minute she thought he might. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and rubbed a hand across his face. "I overreacted – _I'm_ sorry, Siri. It's in the past where it belongs. No."

Before long, they were in another argument about how he just couldn't expect to live in the present – not until he dealt with the past.

If Qui-Gon were still alive, Siri would have liked to wring his neck. "Live in the moment," had become so deeply trained into Obi-Wan that he held onto the very thing that was preventing him from actually becoming able to live in the present.

**

"No." Obi-Wan snapped. "If my loyalty – my very integrity - is in doubt, the Council should revoke my seat and not force this on me. They didn't even have the decency to ask me themselves – they had to make you ask on their behalf."

It wasn't going well. Cielan had not expected it would.

"They thought it might be less objectionable coming from me, and less of a demand and more of a request. Do you object to your integrity being questioned – or having your memories poked at and a part of your mind explored?"

"Both. Either." Obi-Wan stood up, sat down, leaned forward with his head in his hands. "Neither."

He sat that way for a long while and Cielan could feel him reaching to the Force, and finding nothing.

"You have a choice. You can say no. I would counsel you to strongly consider refusing. Those memories will eventually find release on their own schedule and you're not anywhere near having your medical release. The Council – Force bless their meddling and misguided hearts – is forcing an issue that doesn't need to be forced. If those repressed memories are close to surfacing, I might trigger a reaction that is anything but beneficial to your recovery."

He finally sighed and looked at her. "Is there any chance this could help me regain my connection?"

"I don't see how it could, but it is possible. Obi-Wan, I don't think you realize how badly this may misfire. While I don't think you would be permanently damaged, there is a risk that you will be greatly damaged, at least in the short term. Think on this – you don't have to make a decision now."

"A Jedi's life is one of sacrifices. Of duty. Doing what must be done." He sounded suddenly weary, his natural repugnance at the idea drained to resignation. "Will I remember – everything - afterwards? Or will you be the only one…?"

"If I erect blocks and re-establish your mental shields as I go, you should remember nothing until you are ready to do so. My purpose would be to exam – I suppose you could call it your commitment to the light, your moral center. Everything else you hold within I should be able to avoid until you wish to share those details. When I'm done, my sole duty would be to report to the Council my findings, not the details, and to you, as well, should you wish it."

"Report if I'm tainted," he said bitterly, running his hands through his hair.

"If the Sith have reached your inner core – or failed to do so. Obi-Wan, you are affected by what was done to you. Affected does not mean tainted, and tainted does not mean we can't work to reverse anything planted in your mind. It means ascertaining what work we have to do – together. It will take time, but you will recover."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tenseness of his body underneath – the struggle to overcome his aversion to the very idea.

"If there's something – twisted – within me," he paused, shuddering at something he'd already started to bury so deep he had almost forgotten, "I want it untwisted. You're right – it's not what that mask made me, but what I can make myself again. You have my consent. I ask only one thing – that if you find anything, any reason – you protect my padawan. Keep him away from me if there's anything within me that may harm him."

"Obi-Wan…"

"Promise. That's my condition. I'm not agreeing to this for the Council. I'm agreeing because they have every right to question the moral stability of one who sits amongst them and I'm agreeing for my padawan. The Jedi I used to be, as well."

Two Jedi sat silent; both alone with their thoughts.


	56. At the Edge of Insanity

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open. It was dark, so very dark – the darkness surrounded him, whispered to him. He was back _there_! He put a hand to his brow and winced. A million _things_ were clamoring at each other _thing_ within his skull.

_Hate – anger – oh, the faces – blood and pain_. _Whispers – evil whispers – no, no, no_! He had to get away – before they came – before he fell.

_Must get- get away!_

He tried to get to his feet and crashed to his knees instead, only his hands keeping him from falling flat on his face. Somehow he made it upright, to stand wavering on his feet, dizzy and disoriented. His head, oh, his head. His eyes could barely focus.

The will of a Jedi somehow propelled him forward – away – away from the dark.

He stumbled forward, gradually straightening into a wobbling walk as he progressed.

Blind instinct led him through deserted hallways to his quarters. The dim light of the Temple at rest barely registered, only the voices of the ghosts seeking admittance to his mind had that power.

Voices: so tiny sounds itching at his ears. The silence, what little there was, whispered to him. The whispers grew swollen with dissipated pain, shrieks torn from those who had nothing else left. Screams of the dead …it was all there: the sounds, the smells, the hopelessness.

Clinging to the molecules of the air, stale and heavy, Obi-Wan could sense the despair and pain of the tormented. The dead did not want him to escape; the chains of their despair followed his wavering footsteps – _you are damned just as we are – damned – damned – damned._

_No, _he moaned, but the voices would not be silenced_. _

_Obi-Wan_.

He heard his name, a whisper across the wind. They called to him, they wanted him.

_Obi-Wan, listen, listen, please._

He hung his head in his hands and moaned, nearly falling to his knees. He was hallucinating his master's voice, for he knew the tone should be sharp with disapproval, not soft with worry.

_No, it's not Qui-Gon._

_So you_ do _hear me! _

_I hear my mind grasping for the impossible- I can't deal with this master, I can't live in the moment, I can't get beyond this. I can't find sanity… I'm sorry. _

_You can my padawan. Do as you did before, to defeat the dark – face it! Allow yourself to face it all. Allow yourself time to heal rather than blame yourself for your illness._

_I'm not ill! Merely crazy, for a sane man would not converse with the dead. Get out of my head, false master of mine – I try, Force I try, but I cannot live in the moment – I can't, I'm so sorry, but I just can't._

_Oh, padawan mine…I know. Listen for once to your own mind, to others, not words from your past. Don't cling to what you know for what you think is saving you is only hurting you. Go back – there - and face it, so you can free yourself of it. Find the truth and it shall set you free._

_No…just shut up. Jedi – I'm Jedi. Won't be – won't be – if go back there._

His knees nearly buckled and he leaned against a wall, hands splayed out to brace himself. Somewhere along the way, perhaps when he pushed himself away from the wall, he looked at his hands – – and the saner part of him startled to a confused realization: they were clean.

He had been sure that red spilled between his fingers_, drip – drip – drip. _

He'd always thought the hands of those who killed were stained with their victims' blood, but proof he was wrong was before him.

Had someone passed by him, someone who hesitated and stood looking after him? If so, it was someone who had gotten no further than that hesitation. That body now lay behind him – all that was left was another voice, another whisper in his mind.

Yet his hands, still, were clean.

Funny how it didn't take shedding of blood to kill someone. There were so many ways to inflict death, some messy and some - apparently not.

Death by lightsaber was familiar, quick, virtually blood free. It had been the only way he killed those he had killed. He had killed all too many, seen their eyes from mere feet away as his blue beam found its target via swipe, jab or thrust. It was an elegant way to kill someone.

It was a quick death, if the blow was intended to be fatal.

For suffering, other means were more desirable. Other means allowed the killer to see cords tightening in necks, lips curled to stave off pain, the clench of hands as the body sought…

_No, no. Force help me, no! _

He moaned and pressed his head to the wall. The demons were there, trying to get out, pounding for release.

The demons he'd spawned himself; the offspring of nightmares. Because of them, he'd turn and catch another Jedi's eyes, and he would watch the life drain out of them as he squeezed, until the body dropped at his feet. At the thud he would blink and realize that there was no body at his feet and no blood on his hands.

Not yet.

They were clean; still oh-so-clean.

And he would remain rooted in place until the trembling stopped, and then he would move on and try to forget that he had just killed another person for no reason at all – other than the sheer shiver of delight that ran down his spine.

And the death toll mounted as the bodies piled up in his wake.

_Make it stop! Take me, not them, _he begged the Force_. _

But the Force refused to wrap him in eternal peace. It, too, damned him.

His feet could finally carry him no further – and the voices caught up to him. The door closed behind him, shutting him in with them – the screams and the cries of the damned.

The weight was too much; his knees buckled – and the Jedi collapsed.

Already tense and edgy, Siri was on her feet and running towards Obi-Wan's quarters at the Force's sudden and abrupt urging, knowing she needed to be at his side, knowing he needed her – someone - anyone.

_He_ needed _her_; his anguish twisting within her as clearly as if he was calling her name. She found him rocking on the floor of his quarters, with his head slowly moving side to side as he whispered repetitively "no," over and over, his fingers raking desperately through his hair.

"Breathe, please breathe. Don't want – don't want to do it – Force stop me!"

The broken whispers scared Siri more than any screams or loud protests could do. This – whatever _this_ was – hurt so deep inside that she could not believe this was Obi-Wan Kenobi before her. Jedi master, Jedi Council member, self-contained man who never displayed his emotions so openly before others. Now they were all on display, as it were, with no regard – indeed no notice of – her.

He had indeed to be lost within whatever anguish he was living – or reliving.

She could feel him desperately reaching out to the Force; his need an unanswered ache in him. He sat back pressed against the wall, knees against his chest as his reality crushed in against him – all the pain, all the horror, all the fear. His inability to touch the Force when he needed its strength. A low moan escaped his lips. Siri kneeled next to him, unsure of the best thing to do, but needing to do something – anything – to comfort.

"Hey, it's me, Siri," she said, slowly reaching forward. He flinched but didn't try to escape. Her hand was on his shoulder now – he shuddered.

"No, don't make me – please don't make me." Broken words, from an all but broken man. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Look at me, Obi. It's me, Siri." She cradled his head within her hands, brushing the dampness of his cheeks with her thumbs. The sheer desolation in his eyes froze her; bleak despair and utter hopelessness. "Obi – should I call a healer? What's wrong? What hurts?"

She summoned as much of the Force as she could to brush against the tortured mind.

"Siri?" He choked out her name as if just barely recognizing who was before him. At her nod, he collapsed against her. "Siri…Siri."

He was calling for her, wanting her, when her arms were already around his shoulders – so lost in whatever he was lost in that he was not fully in touch with his reality.

"Who do you think would be here, you gundark; who else would be letting you get away with bunching your hands in her tunics?" Not that she minded, of course. She gently patted him on the back as his breath hitched with his attempts to control his emotions, but he was in the grip of something so powerful that she could not entirely reach him.

If he was this distraught, something really ate at him from the inside. This was no passing storm, but an emotional tornado of such overwhelming power that it had shredded the control of a man known for such.

"Go 'way, please – go 'way before I – I don't want to hurt you, Siri."

Despite his words, he was holding on for dear life, using Siri as a lifeline.

If a heart could break, Siri's would be shattered into a million pieces. Only the Force and her love for this tormented man kept her in one piece, to be Obi-Wan's anchor.

"Whatever this is, release it, Obi, cry."

"I can't," Obi-Wan whispered, trying to pull away but Siri wouldn't let him go. She cradled his face within her hands, then leaned forward so her face rested on his forehead.

"Why not?"

"I have no tears left within me. She took them – she took them away – too, the screams and the tears until there's nothing left. Nothing left to hold onto, nothing. No tears, none left, none."

"Then I will give you mine." Siri no longer tried to hold back her own tears, letting them spill forth. If only tears had the power to heal. "Oh, love, hold on to me. It's time to let it out, let it all out and hold on to me."

Ever so gently, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. At first he was stiff and resisting, then with a soft cry of "Siri," fingers clutched at her tunic as he buried his face in her shoulders - and cried.

Silently, letting loose all the tears that had been bottled up inside.

She tried to reach the comlink in her belt, but hesitated, not wanting to push Obi-Wan away. She rubbed his back; the rough weave of his tunic at the edge of her awareness, trying to be gentle though she knew the skin underneath was not tender. One of the few places Obi-Wan had been unmarked, Bant had said, the muscles of his arms and back affected by the weeks of hanging in chains, but the skin – that part of him had been otherwise unmarked.

Obi-Wan huddled within Siri's embrace; two Jedi's tears mingling as if they were one.

A thud of boots drew Siri's attention and a disheveled Anakin skidded to an out-of-breath stop beside them, face intent and worried. He looked so distraught and anxious that any thought of asking just where he had been fled Siri's mind.

"The bond," he said tersely, running his hand through his hair as he dropped to his knees by his master and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Master, stop crying; stop crying, please." He sounded desperate and uncertain, and Siri realized he had probably never seen any Jedi, let alone Obi-Wan, ever cry.

"Let him cry, Anakin, he needs to cry," Siri said, though everything within her wanted to stop the flow of tears. Something stronger than herself told her to let him be.

Apparently that same something didn't speak to the apprentice, for Anakin put both hands on either side of Obi-Wan's face and Siri felt the Force pulse between them as Anakin tried to calm his master. It worked, or at least the crying sputtered to an end as Obi-Wan sagged against the waiting arms, too exhausted to continue.

The padawan gently stroked a hand through his master's hair, his touch both tender and uncertain. Confusion and worry, as well as affectionate caring, radiated through the Force, bringing a faint smile to Siri's face.

The two Jedi exchanged glances; Anakin looking for Siri for direction. She nodded her head to his bedroom. Obi-Wan needed to sleep right now; tears still dimmed his usually bright, now weary eyes. Siri dried Obi-Wan's face as Anakin lifted his master to his feet; each took an arm and wrapped one of their own around the Jedi and together they walked him to his room. Siri pulled back the blanket as Anakin gently deposited his master onto the bed.

Together they removed his outer layers, with Siri discretely turning away as Anakin stripped him down to his underclothing.

Obi-Wan clutched at her hand as Siri stood to leave.

"Stay with me. Please," he mumbled. "Safe…with you."

"Stay with him," Anakin urged, his earlier fears turned to amusement at the sight of his master all but begging that someone keep him company as if he were a crechling who'd woken from a bad dream. "I'll fix some tea for us."

"Good idea," Siri said, trying to smile at the young man. "Call the healers, too, will you?"

She sat down at Obi-Wan's side, smoothing his hair back from his eyes with one hand as he tightly held onto the other. "Don't worry, Obi. I'm not going away. I promise. I'll be at your side as long as you need me, probably far longer than you'll want me."

"Forever works," he mumbled, tightening his grip even more.

"See, there is a romantic hidden somewhere inside you, Kenobi," she whispered, dropping a light kiss on his forehead. "Forever, huh? Sounds nice."


	57. A Clue Surfaces

A slight commotion in the outer room brought Siri to her feet, still tightly clasping Obi-Wan's hand. He had been too tired to speak, resting with eyes closed though shudders still shook his body from time to time. It was hard to tell what reality sheltered him, for he had been silent since his whispered request for Siri to stay.

Despite her doubts and fears, Siri had been relieved beyond measure when her gentle pressure on his hand was returned with a soft caress of a finger: if nothing else, Obi-Wan knew he was safe and who was with him.

Despite the questions pouring from the padawan's lips, Neille and Cielan gently brushed off his questions and ushered Siri out of the bedroom. The door shut with a solid thud.

The two Jedi looked at each and with a soft sigh and shake of his head, Anakin made another pot of tea. At his questioning look, Siri just shook her head. She didn't know what caused that reaction anymore than the padawan did.

"I should have been here," he mumbled. He stood up and balled his fists, looking as if he wanted to kick something, anything. Instead he rubbed his eyes and let Siri pull him back down into a seat. He looked at her, then away and added softly, "He left me a message he wouldn't be here tonight, but he didn't give any explanation. I thought – I thought it was okay…."

A virile young man like Anakin Skywalker – Siri had little doubt what the padawan had been doing and who he had been with didn't concern her. Any number of female padawans may have caught his eye. To those who indulged in physical pleasures, he was a sought after prize, if one believed accidentally overheard gossip.

"You came when he needed you…remember that, Anakin."

"This time," he whispered and fell silent.

Anakin was the first on his feet when a tired Neille came out. "What's wrong with him?"

Neille hesitated. "Other than exhaustion, nothing's really wrong with him. Not physically. It's an emotional reaction. After Cielan's session with him earlier, she wanted to keep an eye on him for just this kind of reaction. She asked that he stay overnight in the Ward and he agreed. When the night duty healer checked on him, he wasn't there. He called Cielan at almost the same time your comcall came in."

"Watch him – why? He was almost hysterical."

"Sit down, Anakin, give Neille a chance to explain." Siri tugged Anakin down beside her. She wasn't feeling much more charitable, but blew out her fear and frustration into the Force.

Neille accepted a cup of tea from Siri and sat down. "I can't really say more; I wasn't present. Cielan was exploring his memories, I gather. For various reasons she shielded them from his conscious memory. Cielan will have to explain what happened. Obi-Wan is," he hesitated, "he should be fine after a long sleep."

_Should be_.

"No!" Siri said sharply to Anakin, noting the tenseness in his shoulders. He had picked up that same phrase. "Think about Obi-Wan."

"I am," Anakin protested, surging to his feet once more.

"You're thinking from the wrong angle. The healers didn't try to hurt Obi; don't blame them. They may have hurt him, I don't know, but if they did it was in trying to help him. Ventress is the one responsible for what Obi-Wan's going through. Focus, Padawan. Obi-Wan needs our love and understanding; he does not need your anger even if on his behalf."

Anakin sat.

"I'm upset, too, Anakin, but being upset doesn't help your master, okay?"

To the surprise of each, Neille, who had sitting there regarding them gravely, added, "I'm upset, too, I just don't know what to be upset at."

That just about summed up the entire situation.

With remarkable control, Siri thought, Anakin jumped to his feet and without accusation, quietly asked when the door opened, "What happened – can I see him, is he okay?"

"Do you want the technical explanation, or just an explanation?" Cielan looked as tired as everyone else, pulling her cloak around her nightclothes as if to ward off a chill. "First of all, let me say I've sedated him and he's sleeping comfortably. He should be fine when he wakes, but that may not be for a day or so. He can stay here if someone stays with him."

"What happened?"

"We all know Obi-Wan is repressing at least some of his memories until he's ready to face them. The strain of that is putting a lot of pressure on his mind, hence the little things we've all noticed. For reasons I will not go into without specific consent to reveal, I was –in his mind - and sealing his mental blocks back up as I moved on."

"They didn't stay sealed," Neille guessed. "Didn't you realize the risk you were taking?"

"Obi-Wan accepted the risk; I suggested he – refuse permission," Cielan said cautiously. "Patient-healer confidentiality means I cannot and will not say more than that. He should have been entirely unaware of what was happening, but to be safe, I wanted to keep an eye on him. I had him stay overnight in the Ward for observation. He must have woken confused and wandered back to his quarters – at this time of night, it's not too surprising he didn't encounter anyone."

"What caused - that reaction?"

"The human mind is a strange thing. Those memories want out. Deep inside, Obi-Wan wants to release them, but he doesn't know how to access them or handle them without the Force. I think his mind grasped my touch with the Force as the Force returning to him, so a few of the gates opened until another part of his mind realized it wasn't the Force returning to him, but another being using the Force to touch his mind. In short, his mind felt violated a second time, for realize, his mind _was_ violated while in captivity."

_Violated!_ Siri and Anakin looked at each other as if wondering why they hadn't ever realized just how serious.

"He wouldn't mention that, would he?" Cielan hadn't even realized the depths of that violation herself until now. Had she known, she would never have allowed the Council's request; Obi-Wan would never have known of it. Another piece of the puzzle was slotting into place. "We won't know the full extent of that until he tells us, or I force him to release it. I will not do that to him unless it's, well, necessary for his sanity."

Cielan suddenly stopped, as something registered, really registered for the first time since she'd heard it. She had heard it once; then a second time and putting that together with "violation" spurred something worth investigating. She glanced at Neille and saw that he caught her excitement, but was willing to let her keep her silence for now.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she had picked up on a clue that would help solve the mystery of Obi-Wan's erratic Force ability. Whether or not that would be sufficient to restore a tortured mind was less certain.

**

As soon as the two healers left, Neille asked the question he'd been holding back. The gleam of anticipation shone in his eyes. "What did I sense you discovered in there?"

"First thing in the morning let's get Bant and all the notes together," Cielan said, furrowing her brow. "Obi-Wan has mentioned a mask twice now, and there was – a void – in his memory when his vision seemed to go blank with horror. I couldn't probe too deeply – he pushed me out of his mind at that point and just shut down. The Force tells me we're on the right track – something about that mask explains his midis, at least in part."

_That mask – I wear it still…_that whisper would haunt her until she found an answer.

**

"Well, hi, there," Siri said softly as Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open.

He had slept nearly a day and a night, with Anakin and Siri, occasionally Yoda as well, taking turns sitting with him despite the healer's assurances that he would sleep uninterrupted. Hearing from Anakin of Obi-Wan's continued nightmares and remembering his breakdown in her arms, Siri was vigilant to every twitch and minor movement. She had just relieved Anakin not long ago as the new day started, up far earlier than she preferred, but she would arise early without complaint to be at Obi-Wan's side.

Confused eyes blinked at her, and with a soft sigh, one of Obi-Wan's hands came up to rub his head.

"Who did I kill?" he whispered. "Don't want – don't want to…hurt anyone." He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

**

_I don't want to hurt anyone_. _Who did I kill?_

What would prompt Obi-Wan to say such a thing, a Jedi who always tried his best to avoid inflicting harm whenever possible? Siri was roused from her thoughts when Yoda stopped by.

"Still sleeping he is," the little master noted. He had been looking troubled ever since hearing of Obi-Wan's emotional breakdown, arriving right as the healers had left.

"He woke for a moment and mumbled something," Siri said, her hand lightly caressing the Jedi's forehead. She had grown comfortable touching Obi-Wan in such little ways as this, even in front of other Jedi.

The aged Jedi master's eyes calmly appraised her, waiting silently for her to continue.

She shrugged and sighed. "'I don't want to hurt anyone' – what would prompt him to say such a thing?"

"Know that I do not." A hint of sadness and guilt passed across the wise eyes, before Yoda added, "Expected this was not – more than we know locked inside his mind."

"Worse than – what we already know or suspect?" Her hand sought Obi-Wan's, blindly gripping it.

"Told you once I did, that driven to experience the darker emotions Obi-Wan must have been, that incomplete his release must be. Now that physically safe he is, horror of situation surfaced and turned to shock, add now shame and guilt. Buried them he did to cope, but buried they stay not. Turbulent his emotions are – add to that violation of his mind – trust in the Force I must that a good man has not been irreparably harmed by what we asked of him."

The last part of Yoda's words slipped by Siri's cognition. _Irreparably harmed_. Had Cielan told Yoda this was possible? The man crying in her arms that heart-wrenching night was not Obi-Wan Kenobi, she knew, every vulnerability exposed and raw emotion pouring out.

The little Jedi settled on the bed next to the sleeping Jedi and placed his hand over the two entwined hands, sending comforting waves of Force _through _her hand to his. "Bonds we both share with Obi-Wan," he said softly. "Need no explanation they do – they are. Give Obi-Wan what he needs we will; ask for our help he will not but give it we shall."

Siri's free hand reached out to caress Obi-Wan's forehead with the brush of a finger, a kiss of a touch but not with lips.

"You didn't see him, Master Yoda, before he was sedated. I – he – it was like there was something "foreign" in his mind, battling for dominance. He seemed to be doing so well - it's so hard to see him struggle now that he's home and free."

"Free he is not just because home he is. Thinks this _he_ does; know better we do. Know everything he endured we do not. Know enough we do to know that deeply scarred he is; wounds not visible he has and wounds we do not yet understand; ones that perhaps he is unaware of as well or trying to deny. We must help him understand that lack of control of his emotions is not a sign of failure, but of success – survived he has. Fighting to be free he still is, but fighting so hard unable to see that now is the time to stop fighting. Stop fighting he will when safe he feels."

"Safe – but he's back where he belongs, with people who care about him and want to help," Siri protested.

"Safe in body only; safe yet in his mind he is not. Surrounded he is by people who want him to be who he was, so who he was he is trying to be. No longer that Obi-Wan he is. Accept who he is and he will find himself again. Support him you can, reconstruct him you cannot. That he must do himself."

From turmoil to calm, from tears to smiles in just days. It still amazed Siri how resilient a human mind could be, for Obi-Wan's smile greeted Siri when she walked in just as Anakin and Bant were leaving.

"Let me pour you a cup," the Jedi offered with a dry smile as he stood and made his way to the caf pot.

This had become their daily routine after just after two days. Obi-Wan refused to stay in his bed and be fussed over, but other than that he seemed content to rest quietly in his quarters.

Little hint of his emotional turmoil lingered, that of just several days ago. It might never have been, but Siri had witnessed it. Traces lingered, if one looked carefully enough, though Obi-Wan had no memory of that night, or so he claimed.

"You're still having nightmares, Kenobi," Siri gently accused, noting Obi-Wan's red-rimmed eyes as he handed her a cup. "No, Anakin is not tattling on you, either, anyone with eyes can see it."

"Yeah, well," Obi-Wan shrugged, running his hand through his hair. He had accepted his padawan's and Siri's hovering with minimal fuss, making light of their concern but unwilling to push them away as if he weren't totally convinced there wouldn't be a repeat episode.

It was a game of pretend that fooled none of them yet kept the pretense of self-sufficiency and well-being intact.

"There's little I can do about that, it's my subconscious still playing around at night. I'm fine otherwise."

There was no playful denial of her words this time and Obi-Wan avoided her eyes for the first time since _that_ night. Now that she studied him, Siri saw something behind his eyes, something that gave rise to a suspicion that perhaps he was now remembering his dreams.

The stubborn, self-sufficient man - one who wouldn't lighten his burden by sharing it with others. He was finally accepting the comfort of his friends – their physical presence – but not yet their emotional comfort. Siri wondered if he ever would.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Siri mocked him, not unkindly. "You're not fine, Obi-Wan, not if you look like this during the day. Yes, you're doing much better, but you are not fine. Maybe you should consider telling someone –Cielan – what those nightmares are about –you're remembering them, now, aren't you?"

Long lashes swept down to cover eyes that otherwise looked steadily at her. "What makes you say that?"

"The shadows in your eyes, Kenobi."

"Oh." He blinked and looked down, at a sudden loss for words.

"You gundark," Siri said tenderly. "Cielan says remembering is good, that you need to share them to understand them. Tell me, tell Anakin, Yoda – tell Cielan, will you."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. You say I dream that Ventress is hurting me -."

"No." The words were a whisper, Obi-Wan's head shaking in denial.

"No?"

"No. I can't. I don't."

Siri raised an eyebrow. "You don't dream about Ventress hurting you?"

After a long moment's silence where Obi-Wan merely stared at her, he finally dropped his eyes and shook his head. His words, when they came, were so soft she had to strain to hear them.

"I dream that I hurt them."

"Who?"

He swallowed. "Everyone. Anyone. They die, over and over."

"And you…?"

He stared down into his caf cup, unable or unwilling to speak. Perhaps both. A muscle worked in his jaw as he fought to break his silence, or to maintain it. It was hard to say which. Finally the man's desire to let the pain free overcame the Jedi's reluctance to share the same.

"I'm the one killing them."

_Who did I kill this time? I don't want to hurt anyone_. Obi-Wan had whispered that, that brief first awakening after his breakdown.

Tears were struggling to escape from his closed eyes. He wiped a shaking hand across his brow. "It doesn't make any difference who they are. I kill them, over and over, but they won't stay dead. I kill them with my hands; I kill them with the Force. They still come back to life. I kill everyone, Siri, but they won't leave me alone."

Instinct guided by the Force told Siri to dig deeper, that as horrifying as the Jedi's nightmares were to both him as well as to her, there was more there, a reason the nightmares reoccurred, a reason why the dead wouldn't leave Obi-Wan alone.

She deliberately spoke in a calm voice as if they were merely discussing the weather.

"Who do you kill, Obi-Wan? Do you know who they are – do you see their faces?"

"What difference does it make who I kill – isn't it bad enough that I'm killing others?"

"Maybe," Siri replied calmly, ignoring the sudden spark of anger. "But maybe those you kill have a symbolic meaning and if you understand that, perhaps you'll understand these dreams, at least in part."

Obi-Wan couldn't deny that; he nodded curtly as Siri wrapped her hands around his in reassurance and encouragement. Sensing his reaching out to the Force, Siri sent the Force to him, subtly encouraging him to let go and speak. After a moment, his hands tightened and he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Jedi. They're Jedi, all of them."

_Jedi?_

"What else?"

His eyes flew open; anger in them – and fear. "I don't know; what difference does it make? Isn't the killing bad enough – do I have to know the victims as well!"

"Maybe you do need to know _who_ – so you know _what_. Kenobi…," she held her breath, not daring to move no matter how much she wanted to take his face between her hands and will him to speak. He needed a push, but a light one only or she would only push him away. "Kenobi, you've told me this much – tell me the rest and get it out in the open, where we can face it. Together."

With a weary sigh of resignation, Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded and spoke slowly as if feeling his way through the dreams.

"They're male, only males… all ages. Human males – oh, dear Force!"

"Whose face?" Siri was insistent now.

"Mine." Shuddering with realization, he stared at her. "Oh, Force, I'm killing myself." A squeak of laughter came from him suddenly.

Much to Siri's relief, Obi-Wan's laughter did not turn into pure hysteria. For several long minutes she was sure it would – he was sure, too, it turned out – when he finally regained control. He had enough presence of mind to realize as she had that his dreams meant only that his experiences were manifesting themselves in a symbolic, rather than a literal way.

This breakthrough, if it was truly one, was not as illuminating as either had hoped. It was one more clue, not the answer.

**** **

Once again, Adi Gallia sat in Council, waiting to report on her fellow Council member. She felt slightly unclean, though ultimately the result was worthwhile, it was not without pain or repercussions in the future.

She had spoken to all three of the healers; they giving her what information they had and asking in turn for a transcript of Alpha's meeting with the Council. Adi had given them as well a copy of her report on Sith torture techniques and devices, feeling the healers had as much need of that as she had need of their information.

She had also spent time with her padawan.

Siri had needed to talk after Obi-Wan's breakdown, and so Adi had listened: of how Obi-Wan seemed to be getting better, but still suffered from nightmares and flashbacks. Of his utter loss of control, and how he had clung to her as an anchor in an emotional storm.

Now Adi was full of conflicting emotions – of shame and guilt, if not deceit. There was no doubt in her mind that she had been the one to precipitate that reaction, by being the voice of the Council.

As bad as that was, now she felt like she was betraying her padawan's trust. Siri had come to her as a padawan to a master, now Adi took some of that information and would pass it to the Council by incorporating it into her report. That information only confirmed Cielan's conclusion.

It was for Obi-Wan, Adi had to remember. It was to lie to rest valid concerns and to assure a good man's future.

But no matter the good intentions, the means left a dirty taste in her mouth. Only her padawan's forgiveness and the Force's, as well, would help to heal that.

The full report had been provided to the Council; it was time to summarize the conclusion.

"I, the healers as well, we are confident that though Master Kenobi is scarred by his ordeal, he is no more tainted by it than any Jedi who has passed through an ordeal of touching the dark side. Master Yoda admits his brush with it – more than once I believe, Master Windu as well."

Both nodded in agreement at her words.

"I admit that I have freely taken advantage of my padawan's friendship with Master Kenobi – without her knowledge – to back up this assertion. I hope she will forgive me when I ask her forgiveness, as will Master Kenobi himself. No, not hope for I know both _will_ forgive us – and I fear that makes both of them better beings and better Jedi than the rest of us sitting here in judgment."

"Did what must be done you did," Yoda murmured. "Continue you will."

Yoda was reminding her that she had volunteered to be the liaison between the Council and the healers regarding Obi-Wan.

Once the issue had been brought up in Council, once the doubts were on the record, and once she recognized that Council could not be persuaded to postpone discussion of the issue, Adi had volunteered, for she would exercise her duty with tact and discretion, and with as little invasion of personal privacy as possible. In time of war a Jedi's loyalty could not be in doubt.

"I have already said a victim of Sith torture, pushed far enough, loses the ability to distinguish between what is right and what is wrong and is forever lost.

"Master Kenobi still has the capacity to distinguish light from dark. His very struggle is towards the light, a light that continues to shine despite the darkness he endured – and endure he did. He is struggling to hold onto something he never lost. He has only lost the ability to recognize the difference between what is within him and what was nearly imposed upon him.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi fears he is not the Jedi he has striven all his life to be – that he continually proves himself to be. Because of his reactions to his ordeal, he sees himself slipping away from his teachings and the further he thinks he slips, the more he proves what he values above all else by struggling to hold on.

"In the midst of his struggles, he still reaches out to others – to the smallest of the small, to the most broken of the broken. In his self-doubts he proves his loyalties. Not only is Obi-Wan Kenobi more than worthy to remain a member of this Council, but he is perhaps more worthy than many of us. He would disagree; to him his very struggles are proof of his lack of fitness. To us, his very struggles prove the opposite."

Yoda grunted. "Unfit indeed, thinks this he does. Persuade him otherwise we shall. Remain on this Council he will."

This time, not one member objected.


	58. Reality Checks In

"You stubborn and misguided fool!"

Obi-Wan stepped back, startled, as Siri nearly ran him over when he answered the door. Barely inside the doorway she stopped short and whirled on him, hands on hips.

"You resigned from the Council!" Siri's frustrated hiss echoed loudly.

Obi-Wan sighed and moved to a seat. He really didn't want to discuss this and not with Siri. Not now. He sat down rather abruptly and took a deep breath.

"No."

"I heard – "

"They wouldn't let me." He rubbed his hands over his face. He'd already faced Mace and Yoda, had come close to losing his temper already this day, just one more thing in a long list of things that meant he shouldn't be on the Council.

"Oh."

The relief in her voice just triggered his annoyance with the entire situation. "Why is it that you, Yoda, Mace – why does everyone want to tell me what I can or cannot do, what I should or should not think? When do I get some say in what happens to me?"

"When you're thinking straight, Kenobi." Siri met his frustration with her own. "I bet I'm right, aren't I? What exact reason did they give you for denying your resignation?"

"The same as you, I'm not thinking straight." Bitterness had him hunching his shoulders.

"'Reconsider you will, once face this you do.' I thought of borrowing that stick of his and using it – except I didn't know who to use it on. I face reality every – damn – time I lose my temper, or nearly do. Four days ago I'm told two day before that I was hysterical and babbling about stained hands and hurting people. Two days ago I'm confessing I'm trying to kill myself in my dreams. It seems obvious to me - I'm not fit to be on the Council, perhaps, even to be a Jedi."

He snapped his mouth shut; he had said more than he intended.

He could see Siri's annoyance bubbling out now to match his own. "Kenobi, you stubborn gundark, you're only going to be fit to be hauled back to the healers for a forced reality check if you don't stop avoiding your issues.

"Avoiding, how can I avoid anything with everyone always at me! I just wish everyone would leave me alone!"

"Sure, leave you alone to face something you have trouble facing even with friends at your side."

"At my throat."

"What!"

"Everyone keeps telling me what to do! I deserve the right to handle this as I choose to."

"You deserve to be well, and if that means taking your choices away from you, your choices will be taken away from you. This isn't about choices, it's about healing. Obi-Wan Kenobi, you will never get over this if you don't stop hiding from what happened. After what the Sith-hell happened the other day -** "**

Despite himself, his hands clenched into fists when he'd far rather his lips clenched to keep his words inside. He surged to his feet, blindly turning to the small kitchen and filling a glass with water, but his hands trembled so badly the glass slipped into the sink and shattered.

"Sithin' kriffin' glass!" he snarled, when he almost wanted to cry. He braced himself against the sink, just wishing Siri would go. Go, before everything that was bottled up within blew again. He'd already brought her to tears on his behalf once. "Please…." It was a whisper, this time, a wish to let this blow out without witnesses, without harm to one who meant anything but harm to him.

His soft plea went unheard when he dared to turn and look at her. Siri only glared at him, like he wanted to act like this – like he could not. "You need to face – this – it's eating you because you are reliving this, not facing and releasing it, you damn fool."

"I'll never get over it if I keep reliving it!' he snapped back. "Stop trying to fix me, okay? I can't be fixed, not that easily and not on your schedule."

"Then on whose schedule? You won't talk to Cielan; you won't talk to Bant or me. When will you face what happened, so you can get beyond it – when you're at death's door because you're not taking care of yourself?"

Worry flared into irritation, just adding to Obi-Wan's misery and self-condemnation. Siri was only trying to help, because she _cared _– but she was just going to be hurt, and badly, if this conversation didn't end soon. What little control of himself he had was fast slipping away.

"Siri!" It was a warning, and a plea both, to stop, to walk away, to remain unhurt.

It went unheeded, perhaps unnoticed. Siri barely slowed down as he turned away from her, trying not to let her words inflame the tenuous control he had over his bottled up emotions.

"I swear I'd follow you into the Force and kill you myself if you let yourself waste away. You want to wallow in how bad you feel – fine. Wallow alone, then, I refuse to be a party to it."

Anger nearly choked him. Anger at Siri – and anger at himself for the words he couldn't restrain, words that he would prefer to swallow rather than spit out of his mouth. Oh, where was the famous Kenobi control now? Just further proof of how far he had fallen.

And further proof of how many people he could continue to hurt.

He whirled around, hands bracing himself against the sink before one hand jabbed forward, stabbing at Siri with each word he threw at her.

"Who's wallowing? I'm facing reality; I don't like myself and I don't like that I don't see any possibility of becoming someone I like. I don't want false hope and I don't want pity. I didn't ask for any of this. I had no choice. This is who I am now. You don't like who I am, go talk to Ventress, why don't you?"

His words choked him with anger and contempt colored his words – directed at himself, for Siri had deserved none of that.

"Facing reality! Obi-Wan you're not facing anything, you're avoiding it. Where's the Jedi I knew – and who I know is still inside? I see a man who has real issues to deal with, but refuses to do so. Deal with it so you can get past it – Force, I think you must be enjoying all this self-pity to wallow like you are."

"Maybe the problem is that everyone expects me to put it behind it as if it never happened. I can't do that, Siri. I can't be the Jedi Qui-Gon trained me to be. If you don't like how I'm handling it, let me handle it alone."

Both Jedi glared at each other.

*

_Force, you exasperate me, Kenobi, you damn, stupid, stubborn man. I'll walk out on you if I have to, but it'll only hurt us both. Don't hurt yourself; you've been far too hurt already. _

"I'm tempted. Force knows I'm tempted." She glared at him, hands on her hips, knowing her words were harsh, but Obi-Wan only frowned at her and then half turned away. His hands clenched at his side. When he finally spoke, the icy words cut her heart.

"Why don't you just leave then, let me wallow alone. I'm used to dealing with things on my own, anyway. Just go."

The look on his face was part thunder, part pathos. _Stupid, hurting, stubborn gundark_.

"Go. Please." The voice was less harsh now, soft and nearly inaudible. If Siri had eyes to see, she would have seen his fingers clenching and unclenching. Had she listened to the Force, she would have engulfed him in a hug and promised him he wasn't alone, that he hurt her more by pushing her away more than he protected her by that same action.

"Fine," Siri couldn't help spitting back. "You're going to kill yourself – from loneliness if you drive all your friends away. I hope you drown in your misery, but at least drowning alone means none of us will have to drown with you."

Driven nearly to tears at both her own horrible, hurting words as much as for a man who couldn't see beyond his own pain, Siri whirled and marched for the door. Half-blinded, she smacked her elbow and swore – a most unladylike curse. She was half out the door, ready to break into a run to find a mind healer, any mind healer, or even Master Yoda, and confess what she'd _done_ to Obi-Wan.

"Siri. Please. Don't…don't go. Stay."

A soft rustle, a cleared throat told her that Obi-Wan had taken a step towards her. When she didn't respond, she heard a quiet sigh behind her. "I'm sorry."

"I am, too, but I can't help you, Obi-Wan. Not without your cooperation." _I don't know how to help you_. She took another step forward and heard a broken murmur behind her: "Siri – please, forgive me."

_Damn him_. No one else could evoke so many emotions in her in less than one minute.

Snarling to herself, she stalked off.

Of all the stubborn men in the galaxy, she had to love the most infuriating one. Obi-Wan just had to try to heal alone – and her heart softened. Alone, other than Alpha, alone with his pain and his anger, alone, with his suffering and fear. Alone – the man didn't know how to ask for help, for help too often hadn't been there for him.

He had suffered in lonely silence upon his return from Melida/Daan, endured the scorn and anger of his age mates; he had had to be strong for himself because there was no one else. He had suffered upon his return from Naboo, endured the grief and pain because he knew others depended on him to be the strong one, so to be strong for them, he had been strong for himself.

Holding himself together so he wouldn't lose any more pieces of himself if he shattered. Because if he shattered, there rarely was someone there to help him reassemble himself.

Strong, he was always strong. Alone, always alone so his burdens burdened no one else.

Unless - someone else reached out to him; offered to share the burden and in so doing showed they had strength enough for them both. Memories of sitting on a bench in the Room of Thousand Fountains, feeling Obi-Wan's ache lessen just by having another person sit by him and acknowledge as well as accept his pain filled her; the Force reminding her of the heard even if unspoken words she had almost not heard in her rush to escape: I need you. Help me, please.

_Help me_.

Obi-Wan didn't know how to be weak, because there had never been another one to be the strong one.

Obi-Wan didn't know how to ask for help, because he had always been the one to offer it.

Obi-Wan didn't know how to take comfort, because he was always the one to comfort.

_Pushing you away because he's afraid – afraid he'll hurt you…as he did, _she was honest with herself_, but he was trying to push you away before either of us said what was said – oh, you fool, you._

Brushing angry tears from her eyes, Siri whirled and almost ran back to Obi-Wan's quarters, not knowing whether she once got there if she was going to scream at him or hug him. Whatever it took to rip open that shell of invincibility that propped him up, and only trapped him at the same time; she only knew she was going to be the strong one, so he didn't have to be. Not this time.

Luckily, the door hadn't quite closed behind her. She flung it open. Obi-Wan was standing, head slightly bowed – staring after her, or he would have been if his eyes had been open. They were shut tight against pain and yet more shame.

Force, what had that woman _done_ to her Obi-Wan!

_He needs you and he knows that_, the Force whispered to her. It only confirmed what her heart had already told her.

His eyes opened and he stared at her. The raw pain in his eyes twisted her heart as he extended a hand to her, reaching out. "I can't do this – not alone. Please… help me."

Such a simple plea, such a heartfelt one. Spoken so softly – and naked in its need.

"Kenobi – you stubborn, aggravating idiot!" She crossed to him and hugged him before her heart shattered into a million pieces, hugged him before she shook whatever he had of the Force out of him. "Force tell me, why do I love you?"

He cleared his throat, unshed tears glistening in the back of his eyes. "Because you love pathetic life forms as much as Qui-Gon Jinn did?"

Even in the midst of everything, Obi-Wan Kenobi would joke, but there was no real humor behind the words. That woman – that Sith wannabe – had taken far too much from a man who had always had so much to give. She had left little behind, and the man was still trying to piece together what was left.

Siri had almost taken those pieces and scattered them, in her frustration that Obi-Wan wasn't dealing with things as she wished he would. Now she knew he was not dealing with things as he would wish, either; he was struggling on a level he didn't understand and didn't know how to cope with either.

"Obi-Wan, you're not pathetic. Well, not usually anyway. You are an infuriating, insufferable man who needs a good kick up his backside."

"I know," he whispered. "Force, Siri, I'm so sorry – those horrible things I said to you."

He let out a long, shuddering breath before admitting, "The truth is – I don't quite know how to deal with everything, not without the Force. I'm lost and – and confused. Scared, even."

"And still hurting," Siri added. "You gundark, don't you know it's okay to be confused and hurt? You have to let it go, but until you do, you can't hide and pretend those feelings aren't there – feel them so you can release them."

"Jedi don't wallow in emotions."

The Jedi mask of serenity dropped over his face again. Siri thought briefly about kicking him in the shin. Yoda's gimer stick was known for forcing honesty; perhaps her toe might work as well. Tempting as the thought was, Siri restrained herself.

"If they don't admit to them and deal with them, even Jedi will wallow. For Force's sake, Obi-Wan, admit you're struggling. Play pretend with the Council, but not with me. That's all I ask. You just did and you didn't fall apart, did you? Talk to me, Kenobi; just be honest with me."

"I – I…," he swallowed and nodded. "I thought I was going to – fall apart - when I thought you were leaving. I don't think I can do this, alone, but I don't know how to – to ask or even how to begin. I've always had the Force before."

"Oh, Kenobi, you start by admitting you need help."

"Okay." He ran a hand through his hair and managed a small grin. "Siri, I need help. Please forgive my bad temper and – help me." At her nod, he relaxed and sank into a seat. He spread his hands and looked at her with a helpless look that she could only return. His look conveyed the same thought crossing her mind: Now what?

Summoning her most comforting smile, Siri perched on a seat near to him and took his hands in hers with a shrug. "Maybe admitting you can't do this alone is the first step, and maybe that's all you need to do for today. Every journey we embark on consists of just one step at a time, right? Life is a journey, and so perhaps is healing."

"I don't deserve you."

"You deserve better," Siri said in all seriousness, patting his hand.

"I've been a bit of a mess, and will probably be for some time."

"Not your fault, Kenobi. That woman messed you up; this woman will help you to recover."

"You'll have to have patience with me, not one of your strong suits, you must agree."

"Not normally, no. But for the man I love – don't shhh, me, Kenobi – I happen to know your padawan isn't here – I'll make a valiant effort. All I ask in return is that you try to admit your feelings, even if you have trouble expressing them."

"Coercion, Knight Tachi?" He crossed his arms over his chest, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Blackmail, Master Kenobi. I refuse to be hurt by your words, so don't try to drive me away. I won't go. I won't go."

She leaned forward to brush his lips with her own: a promise sealed by a kiss, but found herself with her head resting against Obi-Wan's chest when he pulled her onto his lap for a quick hug as his lips brushed the top of her head, his promise to accept her help.

_I could stay in his arms forever…_

Neither spoke aloud, for in this moment no words were needed. His arms tightened around her as he dropped his head to rest upon hers, drawing from her strength. After a moment or two, Siri lifted her head; leaning back against his arms as one hand reached up to brush his cheek.

He opened his eyes to look questioningly at her, the eyes of a man who had found peace at last, even if only temporarily, the shadows that had darkened them for the moment absent.

"So, are those nightmares still plaguing you, love? It's easy to see you're still not sleeping well; you're not the prettiest Jedi I've seen recently. Maybe I should keep an eye on you at night as Anakin suggested - distract you, say – just the two of us…?"

Obi-Wan blushed at her wink. "Siri, don't joke about – that. It's not – well, it's not funny, not to me."

"It's not happening, either, galaxy-crawler," Siri drawled, in a parody of the Holonet cine that had become so popular lately that it had seeped into ordinary conversation. At Obi-Wan's quizzical look, Siri remembered how the cine became the rage only recently, and explained. He looked less puzzled; he managed a grin finally.

"Isn't it enough to just be able to admit we love each other – and leave it at that? Just to say it to you makes me feel like I'm treading too close to a boundary I've always been cautioned never to step over."

"Yeah, Kenobi, it's enough." _I can live with that, even if I do hope for more._ Siri wrapped her arms around his chest and tucked her face into his shoulder as his arms tightened around her. A content sigh escaped him as he again rested his chin atop the top of her head, holding her as if he never meant to let her go.

Siri smiled to herself. The peace and contentment they found in each others arms was in itself a gift of the Force.


	59. Revelations in the Mirror

_I'm ready…I am responsible for my own behavior, and from this day forth, I start to face my own demons, for if I don't control them – they control me._

Obi-Wan woke to a new day, with new resolve. He hadn't even realized how badly he had been damaged until Siri confronted him and made him see that he wasn't the Jedi he had been because he wasn't taking that step to reclaim himself – to take a step forward he had to take a step back – to _there_.

He had been letting Ventress win and the darkness find in him an unworthy opponent – he fought against what they wanted from him rather than for what he wanted for himself. He had abdicated that battle to the Force.

He had relied on – waited for – the Force to make him whole. Without the Force at his side, he hadn't even attempted to find healing.

The Force was his ally, not his caretaker.

So while he had indeed needed the strength that the Force gave him, in its absence he had only hid from himself and from those who could step into its place. He hadn't been asking for the help that he needed, and in that lack, was failing not just himself, but his friends, his colleagues, and his padawan. How could Anakin accept his help when he needed it, if he didn't set the example and ask for the help he needed?

He didn't want to stay where he had been, but he hadn't been moving forward because – he wasn't letting the past go. By avoiding it, he had only tightened the chains binding him.

_He_ was the obstacle to his own healing.

He knew that now, but he didn't know how to surmount that obstacle.

He only knew the nightmare was not over because he didn't allow it to be. He didn't give it conscious voice, so it took his unconscious voice.

He was allowing Ventress to win, by trying to avoid the memories and thus becoming consumed by them. The obstacle to his recovery was his refusal to face what had happened, and to admit that the past was never past until he let it go.

He had to let it go and that would mean: his fingers splayed over his face as he took a deep breath – he had to go back into the past to get past the past.

The question was: how?

Though he didn't have that answer, he felt better for just knowing the question. Perhaps, just perhaps, knowing the question to ask was the start to healing.

For the first time, hope, a wavering yet present, sense of hope threaded through him.

So, lying in a soft, comfortable bed he tried to pull every blow and every twist of her vibroblade, every tainted morsel and every instrument from the mists of memory where he wished to keep it forever hidden and force himself to examine it in the light of day: face what he would rather forget so that he could accept it.

But he couldn't face it yet, not all of it.

As soon as he tried, he trembled like a dying leaf in a wind, clinging to its twig-anchor to avoid the decay that came with the release of its tenuous hold. His anchor, as much as he hated to admit it, was avoidance.

_**I'm scared**_**… **Obi-Wan finally admitted, if only to himself. _**I'm scared to look too deep**__._ The realization pained him even as it freed him, for to admit it was to accept he would someday have to face it. Release could not come otherwise.

_I'm scared, _he repeated to himself_. Now that you've admitted it – how long are you going to let your fear control you?_

_What if there is something within you worth fearing? _

_Doesn't a Jedi face and overcome his fears, his weaknesses? Are you so afraid that there's nothing of value within yourself? Aren't you the Jedi who says that all beings are made of contradictions and it is one's choices of behavior that is important, not the obstacles within? _

So the man and the Jedi were now arguing with each other, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was caught in the middle. The absurdity of the situation was clear even to him.

It was time to start listening to himself, to stop hiding from the fear - the truth - but to seek it instead. Such had always been his way. Avoidance only bred more fears.

Avoidance had allowed his mind to recover from trauma, but not to overcome it, only to gain the strength to overcome it. Avoidance was perhaps a necessary step, but not a strategy for going forward, only one necessary to not lose ground – a tactic to buy time, not victory.

Focus, wasn't it was all a matter of focus? His eyes now saw the soft light through half-closed curtains, rather than the darkness that had tried to stain his soul.

He knew the Force had not forsaken him, its absence not a recoiling from darkness but a lack of a stable connection to his midichlorians.

He felt the Force more often now, could sometimes feel its peace steal through him, mind and body, washing away the memories of the times accessing it only stabbed deep, burned hot, again a friend, no longer an enemy.

When he could not, he could wrap himself in the love and concern of those who cared for him and find strength to augment his own.

His anchor would now have to be the Force _and_ his friends, and if he could not fling himself into the currents of the Force, he could at least dip his toes within its waters. He could grasp onto the memory of Siri and her promise to face whatever he needed to face at his side.

He wasn't alone – though he be by himself, he wasn't alone, for the Force, for Siri - stood with him in spirit.

Siri, dear Siri - bless the Force for Siri. She had finally made him admit he needed help. He had nearly driven her away in his stubbornness, and with his inability to admit to needing help.

Neille, Bant, and Cielan as well. They had expressed cautious optimism that they were on the track of explaining his intermittent Force connection and that there was a reason – and not just mental instability– that contributed to his emotional state.

Yoda, Adi, Mace – they, too, had all adamantly refused to entertain the idea of his stepping down from Council, because they said they knew by his very struggles that he was capable of becoming the Jedi he had once been.

Anakin – his padawan who had held him more than once when he woke trembling and shuddering from the dark pits that held his demons. He didn't yet know the name of these demons or from whence they sprung; he knew only that in naming them he might disarm them.

One step.

That's all it would take.

One step forward.

Perhaps a second, than a third. Waiting for him was the embrace of the Force, much as the crèche masters awaited a toddler's first steps.

He could not hide forever; now he found he did not wish to. Every journey started with just one step.

One step. Waiting for him was Siri.

One step. Waiting for him was his padawan.

One step, just one.

The length of the journey was not important, only that one started it and one continued until the journey was complete.

One step.

The start of healing came with recognition of the wounds.

He was wounded in far more than body. He was wounded in his heart, his mind, and his soul. Wounded in his connection with the Force, for he had had to cast out to touch it, rather than it being there.

_Focus._ _Focus on the moment_. _Yes_. _Yes_, it was time to stop fighting; it was time to start healing. Obi-Wan took another deep breath and blew out the pain and the horror, leaning into those-who-stood-with-him for support until he was able to stand on his own. With each slow breath, he breathed out memories and breathed in peace.

As he reached for healing, he reached for that strength that was not the Force within himself, but within those who stood with him: he reached out to those who reached back. Siri was reaching out to him. So was Anakin. Even Yoda, Mace. Bant.

As he had pulled from Ventress, he now pulled from their willing Force strength, binding it to him until he had the strength he needed. They were there and had always been, willing to join their strength to his, and the knowledge nearly sent Obi-Wan to his knees in shame that he had not been able to reach out to what was so freely offered.

In the midst of parrying, Siri smiled and knew not why.

In the midst of his journey home, Anakin smiled and thought it was memories of the night just past.

In the midst of his meditations, Yoda only grunted and nodded as the Force's currents brightened around him.

It was a tenuous peace, at best, but it was a peace he would willingly accept in this moment. It was a promise of a peace he would find again, should it slip away from him. He would find it, and perhaps lose it, several times, but he would find it and one day it would not slip from him.

Desire and determination were not enough to conquer everything all at once. He didn't have to face everything, just one thing at a time until there was nothing left to face.

So today, he decided, today he would start by looking in the mirror and then he would wash himself clean of the past. Though normally one who preferred showering at the end of a day, he would begin this day clean in body. He would focus on the warm wash of soapy water over skin that did not flinch at the touch and wash his hair with arms that no longer protested the range of motion.

For the first time since his return, when he stepped into the fresher he raised his eyes to the mirror to see who was revealed. The sight that greeted him astounded him.

Nights of interrupted sleep and weeks of deprivation were just as prominent as aboard the ship that had brought him home. Red-laced eyes peered from dark pits and the beard he was re-growing was too sparse yet to hide the faint scars still peeking through.

As he had aboard the ship bringing him home, he stared at the bloodied and bruised skeleton that stared back at him. For a moment he was shocked; his time at the healers had not healed him in the slightest.

_Face it! Face yourself!_ The Force or his inner voice insisted, and he opened the eyes that wished to shut out the picture. Another man stood there, one regaining lost weight, scars replacing wounds, a somewhat healthy glow replacing the wan pallor of a man driven too deep into pain and suffering.

_See yourself as you are now! That was who you were – let him go._

It wasn't the face of the man who had left for Jabiim. Even so, the face was more familiar than it had been. The face of the Jedi he had been wove with the face of the man he been turned into and the one he would become again, neither one nor yet the other. A face in transition, the outward sign of the inner metamorphosis taking place: a process he had self-stalled in

He reached for his strength, be it Force or friends, and let it guide him; let it still the trembling of his fingers as he shed his sleep clothes – and deliberately, consciously, faced the man in the looking glass. He faced himself.

His fingers dropped to his chest and traced first one scar, then another, fingers nimbly moving and never resting, not allowing himself to dwell on the _how_ each came to be, but how each had healed with time and careful care. It became almost a peaceful exercise, a mental exercise in visualization, a tracing of the path from pain to progress and from horror to healing.

Reminders not of limitations, but of transcending the same, of enduring the unendurable.

_One's focus determines one's reality_. As when transforming his grief at his master's death into memories of the life they had shared, he had found the emptiness within him then replaced by memories of the mentor he had loved. One needed to let go to move forward. The greater the pain, the longer the process, attainment of peace an accumulation of many decisions and many small steps forwards despite the occasional steps backwards.

_This is Obi-Wan Kenobi who is now, not the Obi-Wan Kenobi who was. See what you were – and see who you are. See who you are becoming, as well._

As he progressed, he unconsciously stood a bit taller, the weight of his wounds no longer weighing him down. When his questing fingers had transversed what it could reach, he awoke as if from a trance, blinked and looked at his body, and saw – really saw – what he now looked like, not what his memories showed him.

The marks were still there, might always be, but unless one looked for them, they were not prominent. His skin had lost the translucent blueness, once angry red marks had now faded to white and were half lost under a dusting of fine hairs. Thin limbs with little strength left within them were gently curving under rebuilding muscles, and the dark shadows hovering just behind his eyes were all but gone.

He dropped his eyes from the mirror and looked down at himself, the who he was, not the reflection of who he was. This was he; the true self.

When he finished, Obi-Wan knew he was ready to take the next step forward. It would be a journey of many steps, but he had only to take one step to start.

He had taken the first. The next would follow then one more after that. One day there would be no more steps forward to take and that journey would end.

He had faced his outer reality – and left it behind. Now all that remained was to face his inner demons – and for that, he wasn't quite ready. Not yet, but he knew that day was coming.

One day he would take that step as well and for the first time since escaping Rattatak, he knew he would find himself.

The path to healing lay before him and it was up to him to take each step.

He had taken that first one and found – hope.

******

Feeling comfortable at last in his own skin, he threw on a pair of pants and headed for the kitchen. Anakin's door was open and the room empty. He wasn't surprised, for Anakin had previously told him of an early morning errand that would no doubt have him leaving before Obi-Wan was up.

He was glad that Anakin feel freer to come and go, though the young man was firm that he would always return to make sure that his master didn't need him during the night. When Obi-Wan had started to protest, his padawan had merely grinned at him and offered ever so casually that he could ask other Jedi – Siri, for example – to keep an eye on him at night.

"_She cares for you, Master," he said blithely. "I care, Bant cares, and Siri cares. Either one of them would be more than happy to take care of you."_

Oh_. To Anakin, Siri's concern and affection were no different than Bant's, or his own. His relief was short-lived, when Anakin added with a little cough._

"_She really cares for you, Master, more than a friend alone, I think, though I doubt she would ever admit it. I doubt she has ever admitted it to herself. I know you love her, too, almost as much as you love Bant, but be careful with her feelings, ok?"_

"_I am exceedingly fond of you, as well, my padawan."_

"_I know," Anakin ducked his head shyly at the words and grinned like a little boy who had been praised and wasn't sure why. "I really know that now." _

_At Obi-Wan's quizzical look, he merely shrugged his shoulders and offered half-ashamedly, "I sometimes doubted, but I realized I just wasn't seeing it in the way I had expected to. It was always there, had I just had the eyes to see."_

_Obi-Wan reached out and fingered the braid, contrition in his eyes, regret for all the mistakes and errors in judgment he had made over the years. "I wish you had told me…." _

"_I wish I had seen…." Anakin looked as guilt-ridden as Obi-Wan felt stricken. _

_The two looked at each other, and then cleared their throats at the same time – agreeing silently there was no need to get maudlin over such a thing – after all, they were men and Jedi both._

"_Scamp." Obi-Wan's hand riffled through his padawan's hair. _

"_Master! Do you have a hair fixation or something? You'll get the braid someday – but not today!" Holding his braid tightly, Anakin danced away and grinned._

Still smiling at the memory, Obi-Wan reached for the pot of caf.

**

He was up; of course he would be up. Anakin had assured her of that, so Siri wasn't surprised when the door opened just a moment after the chime sounded.

Obi-Wan was between the kitchen and common room. He held a cup of caf and his gaze showed surprise and pleasure at seeing her. His other hand was still half raised in the wave that had opened the door.

"Mornin' Kenobi." There was something – a peace – about him that had been long missing, such a welcome sight that she at first only focused on that. His hair was damp as if he'd just stepped recently out of the fresher; her eyes dropped and she glanced away, suddenly shy as never before at the sight of his bare chest.

He had regained most of his lost weight and muscle; he looked healthy and – as she had to admit – a sight that made her heart thump rather loudly. He really was a fine figure of a man.

"Siri?" A blush covered his cheeks as he caught her embarrassment – and surge of emotions. "I wasn't expecting anyone quite this early – I'll be right back."

When he reappeared, he was fully dressed except for the slippers he wore. Siri had warmed his cup and poured one for herself; he sat down and reached for his cup as she started to hand it to him. Their fingers brushed, and both jumped a little.

"Wow," Siri said softly, acknowledging the moment. Obi-Wan glanced away, then at her and slowly smiled.

"Wow," he agreed, and the awkward moment passed as Obi-Wan took the cup from her, set it down and reached back, placing his hand over hers. Their fingers entwined, and they merely smiled, accepting the moment for what it was.

He leaned forward suddenly and ever so lightly kissed her as her face rose to meet his, but it was a gentle kiss only, a mere acknowledgement of his feelings that she reciprocated. She easily sensed this was a moment not to push, only to accept what was so freely given.

"Thank you," he said as he sat back.

"For what? Letting you kiss me?" She smiled, as did he, but he shook his head.

"For what you've done for me, for all your support and understanding – and for loving me despite everything. This might not be the best moment to mention it, but because of you – I took a step forward today. I am facing– and I think I am learning to accept – what she did to me, at least here, outside," he said abruptly, alluding to his half-dressed state when Siri came to visit.

"Oh, Kenobi, I'm so glad. How do you feel?"

"I – honestly? That I've faced one hurdle, and though it might be the easiest one to face, it gives me forward momentum. I've been damaged, I can see and admit that now, even if – even if there's other damage I don't want to face. Not yet."

"That's a start."

"I want to kiss you, you know." The words were abrupt, as if they couldn't be contained any longer.

A slow smile spread across Siri's face, her manner as inviting as her words.

"Then why don't you? It's not like you haven't already – more than once, and not so very long ago, either."

Obi-Wan grinned and reddened. "_That_ wasn't the type of kiss I mean, that's why. Because right now I'm weak and unable to fend you off - I don't know where it would lead, and I'm far from ready to give in to or to resist your feminine wiles, though I will admit I – would want more, if I thought it was allowed. I'm not recovered and I'm not sure of many things. The only thing I know for sure is how I feel about you, and I know I've loved you for a long time. That's about all I can deal with right now."

"Yoda did say listen to the Force and it will guide you right," Siri said. "I think it wants us talking to each other, honestly, right now. Nothing more. I do love you, Obi-Wan."

"I love you, too, Siri." His fingers found hers and wrapped around them.

For now, this was enough.


	60. Hope and Possibilities

Siri had earned Obi-Wan's eternal gratitude to go along with his love, for he realized that she had risked the loss of his friendship and his love - risked it all on his behalf. She had been willing to lose him to help him. He knew he did not deserve her.

Siri didn't push Obi-Wan faster than he was able to progress on his own, merely offering her support and encouragement. With Siri at his side, whether physically or just in spirit, Obi-Wan had both the strength and the will to not just face, but accept all that had been done to him, as well as the feelings and fears that had come with the torture.

Recovery was neither quick nor miraculous, but he was slowly overcoming the trauma with the help of not just Siri, but Bant, Yoda and Mace. Cielan had nearly convinced him what she and the Council already knew: that while his mind had been violated and contaminated – even the Force he had siphoned from Ventress had been poisoned with dark – full recovery was indeed possible and within his grasp.

Even in the midst of his own journey, he was a little concerned for Siri. True to her word, she had devoted most of her free time to be with him, even if just to sit silently at his side. They spoke of many things, but never except once of that night he had broken down in her arms. They had been sitting in a Room of a Thousand Fountains and a youngling had tripped and fallen. The resulting bruised knee had brought both a wail of pain and a crèche master to comfort the child.

It had also awakened a glimmer of memory, and Obi-Wan turned his attention from the child across the room to the woman at his side. A certain awe and wonder shone from his eyes.

"_That_ night – Siri, I remember almost nothing of that night except – I was battling to hold on to – to who I was, to sanity - and it was slowly being stripped away from me for I had nothing to hang onto; nothing - and then you were there to give me something to hold onto, holding me and offering me your tears. You offered me your tears when I could not find mine."

"The tears I had were yours, Kenobi."

The simplicity of her words filled Obi-Wan with a deep gratitude he couldn't begin to put into words. Siri Tachi cried for no one – as with him, her tears were held within, yet she had gifted him with that most precious of commodities – her heart, from whence her tears sprang. Deep emotion infused his own next words.

"I owe you more than you'll ever know." He touched her cheek with a finger; Siri smiled and leaned into the gentle touch. "I'm just sorry you had to bear the brunt of that night – you and Anakin, both, but in the end it appears to have been the catalyst for making me face reality. In that sense, I have no cause for regrets."

Siri's hands twisted in her lap and a flash of something crossed her face. When he asked, Siri merely sighed and said enigmatically, "My capacity to forgive others leaves me ashamed when compared to yours."

Only later had he wondered at her words and to whom they were directed. Not knowing the cause, all Obi-Wan could do was to take Siri's hand in his and lightly rub it, offering understanding as Siri had done for him.

Siri had relaxed marginally, and even smiled at him. "Nobody meant you any harm, I know that," she said. "Kenobi, you're right. Again."

"Sometimes, yes, I am," he had said, laughing, still not understanding. He didn't even know what he had been right about – neither had said little more, only held hands and enjoyed being together. Words did not need to be spoken, for their hearts spoke in a language not vocal.

This was, perhaps, the promise of Jabiim – the gift born from pain and suffering. Bonds, reconnected and strengthened – those with friends, that with his padawan and perhaps, in time, the Force itself.

**

If trying to understand his own feelings and desires weren't confusing enough, Obi-Wan was also now wrestling with a reinterpretation of the Code he was raised on after his latest visit to Jayren.

If he didn't know better, the Force was in a conspiracy with other Jedi to get him together with Siri – for Yoda and Adi had both encouraged them to acknowledge their feelings, Siri seemed willing to pursue those feelings within a committed but publicly unacknowledged relationship and now Jayren had provided an historical interpretation of the Code that could, if Obi-Wan chose to accept, mean he would not be in violation of his vows to the Order.

It had started innocently enough.

After the customary greeting of, "Obi-Wan! If anyone can, you can help me. You can help me remember how to laugh, can't you?" and the laughs that Obi-Wan always found to share with Jayren, the two Jedi settled in for a long talk.

"You're doing better, Obi-Wan."

'It's my eyes," he replied lightly. At Jayren's questioning look, he chuckled. "Siri tells me she can tell how I'm doing just by looking in my eyes. Thanks to her I've started to face what I should have been facing all along."

Jayren smiled and with Obi-Wan's help, settled more comfortably against his pillow.

"It takes time, Obi-Wan. You weren't here when I woke to recognize the changes in my own life. I wasn't accepting at first. I made life rather miserable for the healers. I, too, hid from the truth. I think hiding is part of the process of healing – it's part of the shock and numbness that have to wear off before one can put one's energy into moving forward. When you were ready to move on, Siri was the impetus you needed, just as Yoda and the mind healers were for me."

"Your courage always impresses me."

"Courage?" Jayren chuckled, the closest he could come to a laugh. "Ask the healers if I was brave at first…I fought rather than faced reality, but in the end, you realize you only have two choices – accept it or not. I could seek acceptance and happiness or I could reject that acceptance and be miserable – I enjoy life too much to be miserable. Look on the bright side – look how much research I'm able to get done since I'm not in the field."

What was so remarkable about that declaration was the utter sincerity behind the words, Obi-Wan decided, proof of the will and strength of the human soul. The Jayren he remembered from his padawan days would not have taken well to even the _thought_ of being bed-ridden the rest of his days – true proof of the adage: In adversity the true soul is revealed. Jayren had been tempered on the anvil of suffering into an extraordinary being.

"So what are you working on now?

"The Code. Fascinating…want to hear about it?"

Jayren had been working on the evolution of the Jedi code: how both its words and its guidance had changed over time. That it did not exist in its present form until fairly recently was not entirely new to Obi-Wan, or to any Jedi, really. The actual details of how it changed from its original intentions were, as Jayren said, fascinating. It had been initially written as a guideline for the Order: meant less as a rulebook and more as ideals to strive for; never meant to be rules of behavior as it was now understood to be.

Jayren's explanation behind the "There is no passion, there is only serenity" clause had sparked quite a debate between the two.

Passion meant one could not achieve serenity and without serenity one could not hear the Force's will, Obi-Wan had argued. The passion of a boy whose mother had died in his arms was proof of that – Anakin had not found the serenity to accept his mother's passage into the Force – even now it was an open wound that had not entirely healed.

Qui-Gon had been as much father to him as Shmi Skywalker was mother to Anakin, but Obi-Wan had found peace and acceptance with the passage of time. Qui-Gon had merely returned to the place of his birth, as would Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Jayren – as would they all when the time came. The fact that Obi-Wan missed him, mourned him, grieved for him did not mean the Force was wrong in reclaiming its own, only that Obi-Wan's human mind needed time to adjust to the absence of a much-loved one.

Jayren had not disagreed, yet his explanation of "passion" was different than what Obi-Wan had been taught. Passion that blocked rationality, passion that defied context and passion that denied morality was the passion a Jedi sought to tame and subjugate to the Force.

Passion was a Jedi's heart: in concert with the mind and soul it led to a Jedi's serenity rather than blocked it. In harmony, passion and serenity led to a Jedi's ability to truly hear and understand the Force's will.

It was an explanation that rang true to Obi-Wan, when all was said and done. It gave him so much to think on that they postponed the discussion of the rest of the Code to another time, for time they had plenty of, both of them.

******

Though Obi-Wan hadn't as yet resumed his usual visits to the crèche and the classes of the initiates, he continued his visits to the Jedi in the long-term care section of the healers ward.

A convalescing Jedi on restricted duty still had much to offer, he was quick to discover. His visits were eagerly anticipated, for the aged and infirm usually had to be satisfied with the infrequent visits of Jedi who nowadays had little time to just visit. Time, however, Obi-Wan had plenty of, and he saw no better way to spend it than with those in the same situation.

In their own way, they helped Obi-Wan as much as he helped them. Bed-ridden in many cases, they had little to do but meditate deeply and often with the Force, something the younger Jedi had had little time to do lately.

A Jedi at war found little time to meditate.

A Jedi home from war now had plenty of time, though without reliable access of his own to the Force it was more often with the help of the other Jedi pulling him into a joint meditation.

Cielan wisely left Obi-Wan to find his own answers, for it was now clear that he was on a path to healing. In sessions, she let him guide their discussions, letting the necessary trust develop that would allow Obi-Wan the final release that still awaited its time. The worst had yet to be revealed; for so soul deep was that wound it would only be spoken to a few trusted few.

To the surprise of no one who knew him, Obi-Wan had found his way as well to forgiveness of the Council.

Initially stung by their request that his integrity be examined and judged, his visits with Jayren and the others reminded him of a Jedi's sworn duty: to protect the weak and the frail. The Council's request, no matter how personally painful, was not unreasonable to ask of a Jedi exposed over a long period of time to Sith techniques of mind-twisting. The Council would have been remiss in their duty had they allowed him to sit amongst them without reservation.

He had said as much to Yoda, sitting in the elder Jedi's personal rooms one day.

"Not easy to ask this of you it was," Yoda said gently, gazing at the younger man with sorrowful eyes and a hint of guilt at being unable to forestall the request.

"No, it could not have been, nor was it easy to be asked this," Obi-Wan answered honestly. "In its own way, though, it has helped me – that – emotional reaction I had forced me, with the help of Siri, to see that I was the obstacle to my own healing for I was clinging to this illusion of normalcy."

"Always too hard on yourself you are, young one." At the fond sobriquet, Obi-Wan half-smiled as Yoda continued, "Siri, good for you she is. Knew this even before returned you did. Your feelings to each other you have admitted; helped you that has."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh at Yoda's chortle at his own comment even as he nodded in agreement. It was due to Siri more than anyone that he was finally taking his recovery into his own hands, and that meant facing some hard truths, though he was aware that there were deeper issues he yet feared to recognize and face.

In hindsight it was so easy to see where he had lost his way, for he had become the very thing a Jedi should never allow himself to be – a man who hid from the truth and thus himself. Reality, indeed freedom itself, had allowed the shock he had held at bay so long to finally take hold, but one could not live one's life in a perpetual state of shock as he had been in danger of doing.

"It has, but I've made a start only. Now I need to face that I – I had dark thoughts there. I - hated Ventress at times. Not just what she was doing, Master Yoda, but her. Had I a chance to kill her, I would have taken it then, no hesitation and I - hate – I hate that I could have felt like that - killed her with no remorse or regrets. Even if I overcame all that – a Jedi should never feel or think like that."

He forced himself to meet Yoda's eyes as he spoke, not sure of the master's response to this confession of weakness.

Yoda only nodded. "Understand I do, young Obi-Wan. Twisted towards the dark you were, chose it you did not, nor consumed by it either – else shame you would not feel. Hate a Jedi should not, but hate would any Jedi so treated. A failure that is not, shame you should not feel, not for the thought, but only for the deed. Act on hate you could not."

"You seem so sure. I'm not."

Much to Obi-Wan's surprise, the little Jedi's face crinkled with the merest glint of humor. Some of the tenseness left him; somehow, he felt sure that had been Yoda's intent.

"Touched the dark once before you did. Defeated hate and anger you did on Naboo, faced your own darkness and defeated it; your trial that was. Know this, I do, that if so pushed you were, remorse and guilt you would feel ever afterwards. Yet consumed by hate the Obi-Wan Kenobi I know would not be, lost forever you would not be. Forgiveness the Force would grant and so would your fellow Jedi, for down the path of darkness you would not continue. The path of darkness follows choice; rarely does it follow when so pushed to the extreme."

"Your faith in me is – I am always humbled by it." Obi-Wan dropped his eyes, at a loss for words.

"Faith in you I have, indeed; faith in yourself you need. Young one, your struggle is always to the service of the light, for light is what lies at your core. When convinced of this truth you are, you shall find the man you now think lost. Know this I do; know this you shall someday as well."

With the gentlest of touches, Yoda tapped Obi-Wan's knee with his stick while at the same time he gathered the calming reassurance of the Force to wrap around his fellow Jedi. Obi-Wan had not yet gained perspective or his equilibrium, just as obvious to the old master as to the healer who had informed him of the same.

Some of the tension filtered out from the troubled Jedi's body; Obi-Wan relaxed, but only slightly. He looked down at his hands, suddenly unwilling to look at Yoda, his voice almost imperceptibly trembling as the unrevealed fears crept closer to the surface.

"I don't ever want to tell even the Council everything that happened there, have it a part of the official record. I don't want – Anakin, or anyone to know - everything."

"Shame do you feel? Know better you do. This too is taught: to act under duress is to be free of shame." Yoda's eyes were gentle and filled with compassion. "Tell this old Jedi the rest, help you face it I will. Have you the strength yet to do so?"

"No, Master. I have not progressed that far as yet," Obi-Wan replied quietly.

"Than weak enough can you be to speak? Strength there can be in such; admit weakness you should - not grasp for strength yet.

"That weak, I am not, either."

A clawed hand reached out and tapped the Jedi's hand, resting on his knees as the little Jedi looked earnestly up into the eyes of the younger man.

"Find your strength you will, Obi-Wan, when your weakness you find. Meditate have you been able to do yet this day? No? Your guide I will happily be."

The hidden doubts and fears that Obi-Wan had not admitted to his conscious mind receded deep within once more as Yoda guided him into the soothing waves of the Force.

But the warm currents beckoned, and soon, the time would come to release them.

**

Siri barely refrained from pacing up and down in her master's quarters, for she had just found out the Council was essentially the cause of Obi-Wan's near breakdown. She was not taking it well. She hadn't minded at all that her close proximity to the Jedi and the knowledge of his struggles had helped form Adi's report to the Council. She even understood, no matter how abhorrent the thought was, why the Council had been concerned. Adi's using her padawan's knowledge to help Obi-Wan was not an issue.

What bothered her was the Council's timing – and that Adi had been the representative of that Council, making her indirectly responsible for Obi-Wan's emotional reaction. At this moment she seriously doubted their collective or individual wisdom.

"I can't believe you, Adi, would have been the one to have asked this of Obi-Wan, through Cielan or not – you didn't _see_ him - the poor man – half lost in his own mind – you didn't _feel_ his tears drench your tunic as his body shook so silently within your arms somehow knowing those arms were a safe haven."

Her frustration with her master and the Council was near bubbling over, and it wasn't helped by Adi's quiet serenity. Obi-Wan hadn't even been _able _to cry until Siri had given him her own tears…she'd have cried for him long ago if she had known it was what he had needed.

"I know of his reaction, of course, and I deeply regret it. What would you have me say, Siri?"

"That you were wrong to ask this of Obi-Wan! He didn't need to be driven further into turmoil! You could have permanently harmed him."

Adi's soft sigh and glance at her hands, curled in her lap as Siri paced, was the only sign of the Councilwoman's perturbation. Raising her eyes to her padawan's glare, she could only offer the truth, painful as it might be for Siri to hear.

"And if the Sith had reached him – corrupted him, should we have let him continue to sit on the Council? Would we be right to potentially sacrifice other Jedi – his friends, yours – by observing the social niceties? Siri, Obi-Wan was captive a long time; he was mentally and physically abused – the details are - horrific. No Jedi can stand against that treatment forever, not even Obi-Wan. What would you have had the Council do?"

Siri flopped into a seat next to Adi and growled. "The Council could have waited…."

"Yes, but those of us who thought so were out-voted. In any case, it has no bearing on what he endured there. Siri, perhaps you should read my report and Alpha's as well. It won't be easy to read," Adi lightly combed her fingers through Siri's hair, a gesture that took them both back years, "but perhaps you will understand both why the Council asked this, and why Obi-Wan has been so troubled. If you love him, truly love him as I know you do, it will wound your heart deeply, but it might help you to help heal his."

Adi retrieved her data pad and gave it into Siri's hands. "Why don't you go into my room and read it. I'll be here waiting."

Numbly, Siri stood up and stared at the datapad. She wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore than she already did. Yet Obi-Wan had lived this, surely she could read it. Her chin came up and she nodded.

She knew her heart was about to break all over again.


	61. The Universe Awaits

_My healing is in my hands…and if sheer stubborn determination won't work – my strength will come from elsewhere. From Siri, from Anakin, Yoda and Mace. All those who care and all those who will stand with me. _

With every fiber of his being, Obi-Wan now committed himself to the present and to the future, knowing full well it was a commitment to face and release the past.

Jayren was right, if he wanted to heal, it was time to start living his life, not hiding from it. Obi-Wan was now ready to shed the shell of fragility that had made his friends and his padawan all but protect and hover over him – he would take that final step forward to free himself.

Recovery meant facing – everything - even those horrors he had managed to lock away, for he knew they were there, just waiting for another chance to escape. He had already started on the path to full healing. Only by speaking of what he would rather not, would they know he had reached a level of acceptance that would in turn allow them to help him to take those final steps.

Hours in meditation had helped with the memories and emotions, helping him heal from those, too, but he had been warned it would take longer than he realized to be completely free of the effects.

With Siri's help, Yoda's as well, he had managed to face, accept, and release much already that had so disturbed him. It was only in the relaxation of sleep that they returned. This, too, was expected according to the healers. Don't fight them, they counseled. They will cease eventually, as your conscious and unconscious mind integrate their experiences; the conscious mind heals faster.

No, now that he had stopped fighting the nightmares, they had become little more than unpleasant tastes in his mouth, of a mind soured by poison when he awoke, but he slept through the nights now. The shadows were weakening; their grip on him loosening.

Rare now were the nights when he dreamed, to wake in a cold sweat or cowering under his covers. He no longer woke to find tears streaming down his face, or found his pillow stuffed in his mouth to stop his screams, sometimes the pillow pressed to his head to silence the sound of them.

He owed it all to Siri. Because of her love and unconditional acceptance, he had found the courage to admit much of what had been done to him. He hoped that by speaking those horrors out loud, by giving voice to them, he would release the pain and horror as well – that of what he had faced already and that which he had not as yet.

These thoughts were running through Obi-Wan's mind as he wandered into the kitchen, intending to fix a hot drink, when the chime indicated a visitor.

He waved the door open with a hand – and once again glanced guiltily around, but his padawan wasn't there to call him on his "frivolous use of the Force." Anakin had taken the phrase as a reprimand, always, one that had been a teasing phrase between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. With Anakin's tendency to use the Force as a tool, not a guide, it had been meant as a reminder from master to padawan to respect the gift he had been given.

It was Siri, a somewhat subdued Siri with eyes that glanced at him and then away, barely returning his greeting. None of the teasing tone was present in her voice when she spoke, and Obi-Wan half-wondered if he had imagined everything they had said to each other a few days previously. Was Siri regretting her openness?

He stepped back and invited her to sit while he poured them both a cup of caf, wondering what was on her mind. His mind ran through the possibilities.

Had she somehow heard more details regarding the council's request and his agreement to comply, which had precipitated his near breakdown? If so, she might be upset with Adi, even if Obi-Wan had long ago forgiven the members of the Council.

Quite possibly she was considering whether or not to encourage him to share some of the horror of those days – if he was ready yet to do so - the issue that had been set aside for a few days. Siri had been careful to only comfort him, not push him too hard or too fast, and had otherwise avoided the subject entirely.

It was time to face what he would rather not and so to start to move past it, if so.

On the other hand, he might be entirely mistaken, he could admit. Perhaps he should be comforting her, for it was more than possible that in helping him deal with his demons she had only awakened her own, demons he had thought she was long past, triggering her own memories of the deeds and the persona of Zora she'd adopted so many years ago.

Deeds a Jedi would never dream of doing, Zora had done, deeds not done for mere survival, for there were certain lines Jedi did not cross. The preservation of one's own life was never one. Thoughts a Jedi would never entertain were by necessity thoughts Zora had, so as not to betray Siri.

Just as fighting as soldiers in a war muddied the Jedi, fighting for the greater good – to fight piracy and to fight slavery was admirable, good and necessary – the means left a stench behind, not fully washed away by the Force. Zora had shared Krayn's life and by necessity more than once his bed, until Zora was discarded and Siri stepped forth, a Jedi once more, washed clean by the Force.

Even when Siri had sought to free herself of the stain of Krayn's hands by seeking refuge in cleaner arms in the Temple, Obi-Wan had understood, even though it was Garen's arms she turned to, not his. She had needed that: a friend, only a friend and not someone who might have been more - and Garen was a good friend, to them both. He was not one who loved her just as she had not loved him.

As tuned to Siri's pain as he had been, Obi-Wan had known. It had pained him, but he had let it go into the Force and never let either of them know he knew of what went unspoken.

Garen's arms, Obi-Wan's ears, Adi's counseling – none of that had by itself healed Siri. Not even the unconditional acceptance and compassion a true friend could offer to a friend who could never be more, and yet would always be more had been enough. Only the Force had been sufficient to fully restore Siri.

As it had healed Siri, the Force would heal him if it could.

The unconditional acceptance of the Force only eluded him because he could not truly connect to it – but in its stead the unconditional acceptance and love of Siri had been what allowed him to recognize the depths of his despair and to offer the means of escape.

He had now grasped onto the idea of escape with heart, mind and soul. He wanted to heal and to find who he now was and shed who he did not wish to be – he needed to face what he had no desire to.

Now that he was slowly coming to terms with everything he had been forced to endure, his friends needed to, also. His friends especially. He knew now, if it wasn't out in the open, it was a festering wound easily re-opened, or scabbed over with true healing yet to come. He needed that from them, for him to finally lay it all to rest, for he had gone as far as he could on his own.

"Siri," he started, and quickly stopped, only to start pacing. He tried again, ran a hand through his hair. He sighed, then looked at her and baldly stated, "Siri, you were right – I need to face everything, _everything. _That means we can't avoid talking about it. I need to face the truth and you need – no, deserve – to hear it – if you're still willing to – to help me, to hear the…the truth I've been hiding from."

"Deserve?" She shook her head, surprised. "No, but I'm here listening if you're ready to speak."

Pure affection welled up within him at her words, along with wonder and awe. Her faith and strength were overwhelming – her determination to face anything – everything – at his side. Siri's strength would get him through the hard part now that he had dredged up enough strength to get this far on his own.

"I don't want to – I only want to forget about it, but we both know that is not realistic. You've made me realize that. Running from the truth does not allow one to escape the consequences – so yes, I guess I do need to speak of it – the rest of it. I've been running from it too long, now. There's only so much healers can help with."

"As I needed your help once." The memory of their conversation when Obi-Wan all but made her face her time with Krayn's gang was in her eyes. "You know I'll help any way I can."

Siri took a step towards him and grasped both his hands in hers, a promise to stand by his side and listen to whatever he had to say.

"I'm afraid," he confessed. He took a deep breath, released it, admitted it out loud a second time. "I'm afraid, Siri – to face the horror all over again –but I can't go on like this. I can't do this alone; I've gone as far as I can on my own. I need all my strength, and right now, my strength has to include those who would help. You're my strength, my will, for you won't let me back down – and I can't let _you_ down by backing away if you stand with me."

He took another deep breath and tried to let the memories rush forth. Siri was silent, but he could feel her presence as palpably as he could see her before him, not interrupting him, encouraging him to speak by her very silence and the _acceptance_ shining from within despite the very real dread he could see shadowing her eyes as well.

"You know already I was tortured and drugged. It was vile and it was ugly and it was something no one should have to endure, but I did. I can't hide from it and neither can you. I was…."

…_trying not to beg for death, trying not to scream, or cry or forget I was a sane being…._

"…the pain, you can't imagine the pain, Siri, I'll spare you the ugly details- and almost willing to do anything to escape it. I was afraid of turning, even, for the dark had me in its grip and – and it was squeezing the light from me."

"What?"

He had gotten to her; that unnatural quietness shattered. It brought back his feelings of helplessness, of anger and contempt – and ultimately, shame. The truth of his captivity that he hadn't faced; hadn't even dared to remember, let alone speak of was now close to surfacing.

Tormented eyes looked steadily into her shocked ones. "I was falling into darkness, drowning in it and I'm not yet sure – I escaped. That is why I wanted to resign from the Council, no matter what Cielan said, no matter what the Council said."

*

His hands were still, as always, only his eyes betraying his inner doubts. Of himself – or of her? Perhaps both. Her poor Kenobi, brave, hurting soul – tortured by another and then when he thought he had found freedom – he had not found true freedom for the chains around him had never truly been shed.

Siri now understood that in a way she had not before. Reading Adi's report and Alpha's had nearly driven her to tears, but tears were impossible in that state of numbness that had instead settled over her. With clinical precision, she saw again the list of each bone broken and healed – too many to count, those poorly healed bones of his fingers just a fraction of the many. The burns, the deep wounds – the wounds in places one would not imagine wounds to be and the sick fear of just how some might have been inflicted.

Tears, screams…it was all too easy to imagine the sounds torn from a man tortured beyond comprehension, the tears and the screams that Alpha had spoken of – trying to avoid thinking of what it would take to pull those sounds from a Jedi determined to endure in silence.

"_I need to see him," Siri whispered numbly, standing in the open doorway of Adi's room, the datapad in her hand. "I have to see him."_

_Adi swiftly stood and took Siri's arm; guided the trembling woman to a seat and cupped her face within her fingers. "Siri, you have seen him – you know he survived. Obi-Wan survived."_

"_Obi-Wan survived." Siri slowly nodded. "I don't understand how." The datapad slipped from her hand as Adi slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She couldn't relax into that comfort knowing Obi-Wan had had none for so long. His hugs, his hand wrapping around hers, even his gentle kisses, gifts of the Force as they were, were proof of his desperate need to fill that lack._

"_I have to see him," Siri repeated, but Adi only shook her head._

"_No, Siri, not until the shock wears off. He doesn't need your pain on top of his – for Obi-Wan's own sake, stay with me a while. Rest in the Force and let it out so in turn you can help Obi-Wan release it when he's finally ready."_

_Because the Force whispered the truth of Adi's words, Siri nodded and sought the peace she would need, so she could offer the same to Obi-Wan. She would be ready when he was to take that final step to free himself. _

It seemed that time had now, perhaps, come.

Siri took one of his hands in hers and rubbed the palm, still soft and free of calluses, until she had his full attention, then she slowly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. Obi-Wan stiffened, but when she refused to let him go, he dropped his head onto her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, holding on to something good and strong, drawing in everything she offered.

United, two friends, joining their strength and their hearts as the Force flowed between them. Two pairs of arms encircling each other; a circle of strength given and strength received, of hope to replace despair.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan; it's okay," she repeated, over and over, as she let her certainty wash away his doubts. An ordinary man might need the release of tears, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was no ordinary man. Not withstanding the emotional outburst of the recent past, he found only true release in the Force. No outward tears, ever, that she remembered, for his pain was always turned inward.

Even after the death of his master, the tears had been inside, shed perhaps in solitude and silence, shed within his heart certainly but never witnessed by others. Grief and pain too large to be contained within one person only found release in the infinite acceptance of the Force. She poured all she could into him, strengthening that already within him and offering the comforting embrace of a friend if today he needed it.

Her arms were not wide enough and her heart not large enough for him to pour his pain into.

It didn't matter anyway, what mattered was that Obi-Wan knew that someone – that she – would always stand by him as he worked through everything that had happened to him. He had done the same for her; she would do the same for him.

"Tell me, let it out, so I can reassure you of what you should know already deep inside – except that it's too buried under your pain. You are a good man, Obi-Wan Kenobi – you are full of light that has only been brushed by another's darkness. Any darkness that lingers is not yours, not yours at all."

She held him for a long time. She would hold him for eternity, if that was what it took.

Somewhat to her dismay, it didn't take anywhere near that long.

Obi-Wan recovered his equilibrium rather quickly, or so it seemed, years of experience helping him shed his painful memories into the Force so freely offered to him. He almost immediately pulled away from her and smiled sheepishly as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ears.

"I should have better control than I just displayed," he offered weakly as he moved slightly away from her, though he let her retain his other hand. "I find my emotions all over the place at times. I know the healers told me to expect that, but, well – I should do better than, well, you know, acting like a crechling needing comforting. Some Jedi master I am."

_Jedi are human, too_ she wanted to say, but Obi-Wan always strove to be more than just human. He strove for perfection and while that could be a laudable goal in moderation, such striving at a time such as this only meant more stress than a human should bear.

"Yeah, right, Kenobi. You were only held captive, tortured, had your mind messed with – you're right, you really are some kind of Jedi. How dare you have flashbacks or need someone to hold your hand when all those memories flood back and overwhelm the legendary Kenobi control?"

He had the grace to look abashed, and Siri remembered the look Padawan Kenobi would display those rare times he was publicly rebuked, or thought he had been.

"Help me face it – so I can get beyond this. I don't have the strength I need – not without the Force, but if you're willing to – to face this with me – help me. Help me go back there and face it."

Siri would go anywhere and do anything to help him – even into the tortured depths of his memories, if it restored Obi-Wan. She suddenly had an idea. "I know what you need, Kenobi," she offered her hand. "Come with me. The universe awaits."

**

It took longer than usual to reach the Room of a Thousand Fountains. While the entire Temple knew of Master Kenobi's safe return, few had had any contact with him since he had returned. He had been little about the Temple corridors as he regained strength.

Hushed rumors of his health had made the rounds; most reasonably accurate but all tinged with a desire to know that his recovery was assured, if not yet complete. The Jedi's "death" and his resurrection had become a symbol for the Jedi during this time of war – a promise and a hope that despite war, despite death, and despite suffering – there was still light.

Every Jedi they met insisted on exchanging words of "welcome back" with Obi-Wan, assuring themselves that the Jedi was recovering well from his ordeal. Each encounter brought another smile or a flush of pleasure to his face.

Restrained chatter preceded an approaching group of younglings and Siri glanced at Obi-Wan, fearing the commotion might be too much for him. She tried to touch his arm and direct him down another hallway; instead he stopped with a little half-smile on his face. Rather than avoiding the small group, Obi-Wan seemed to be anticipating their arrival.

In a moment, Siri saw why.

Shrieks of joy echoed through the hall as the Master accompanying them tried to restore quiet as the younglings recognized who stood awaiting them.

"Mas'er Obi, Mas'er Obi!" One small child wrapped her arms around the Jedi's legs and stared up at him with a gap-toothed smile.

"You've got an admirer," Siri mouthed quietly, amused at the sight. She knew Obi-Wan visited the crèche and classrooms of the initiates, but she had never realized his affinity for the small ones, for he seemed most at home in the company of adults.

"Master Caellya," he bowed his head to the little girl with the same courtesy he would extend to a head of state, and the little girl giggled.

Obi-Wan reached down and with difficulty disengaged the girl before kneeling in front of her, ruffling her hair as she threw her arms around his neck and beamed brightly at him.

"They said you weren't coming to see us, Mas'er Obi, that you had gone to the Force, somewhere we couldn't go."

His eyes clouded over for a brief moment, but a little girl's smile quickly banished the shadow as quickly as it had come.

"That's not quite true. I was somewhere not very nice, not into the Force, some place I didn't want to be."

"You look sad, Mas'er Obi, did it hurt?"

Obi-Wan nodded, drawing a deep breath and glancing at Siri as if drawing strength from her presence.

"Yes, it hurt very much. It was a very bad place, you see."

Siri could feel his quiet gratitude through the Force as she pressed her hand to his shoulder in silent support.

"I cried when I hurt my hand. Jarod says only girls cry but he cried when he tripped and fell. Boys do cry." A triumphant grin earned a glare from a boy, Jarod, it was obvious.

"Did you cry?"

The Jedi nodded, unable to speak; his fingers brushed gently across a tiny scab on the hand waving before his face. Siri felt tears prick at her own eyes. Such an innocent question, only the hurts the child spoke of was skinned knees and smashed fingers – hurts easily healed and with no power to scar the soul.

"Mas'er kissed it and it stopped hurting. Kisses fix everything," Caellya explained solemnly.

"Maybe," Obi-Wan agreed; his eyes suddenly shut tight as a little girl's kiss landed on a cheek. "Uh huh, you're right, that was just what I needed. Thank you."

Caellya giggled, fingering his lightly bearded cheek. "Scratches."

"Then don't grow a beard of your own," he said solemnly, prompting another giggle and protest that girls didn't grow beards. "Does your finger still hurt? Will you let me kiss it and make it better? There now, that's two for extra healing."

As the now "healed" finger was pulled back, the little girl looked at Obi-Wan, then at the smiling-through-tears knight standing behind him. "If it starts to hurt again, maybe she will kiss you if I'm not there. Promise to kiss Mas'er Obi if he needs it?"

Siri nudged Obi-Wan with a big grin on her face, and kneeled next to Obi-Wan who was carefully avoiding looking at her. With a sideways look at the inwardly squirming Jedi, she nodded. "I promise I'll kiss him if he needs it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Ick," several of the boys blurted out, while several girls, "ooh'd and ah'd," much to the adults' amusement.

"Mas'ers don't kiss each other," Jarod butted in, chewing on his lower lip, determined to set the adults straight. "No – no 'tachments, right?"

"It's a little complicated, but I think that kind of kiss is acceptable," Siri said solemnly. "A healing kiss is meant to make another being better, so it has to be allowed, right? What do you think Council member Kenobi?"

"The practice of healing arts is always allowed," Obi-Wan agreed weakly.

"Younglings," the master tried to hide a smile. "We really should let Master Obi and Knight Tachi move on, Master Obi looks tired."

"You goin' to come visit soon?"

"Soon, when I feel better."

"You sick, Mas'er Obi?" A hitherto quiet little boy piped up, eyes wide.

"I have been, Master Kyyle, but I'm getting better." Obi-Wan stood up and nodded to the Jedi in charge of the younglings, his gaze warm with fond memories. "Master Daenar."

"We will expect to see you when you feel better, Master Kenobi," Daenar said with a stern look at her charges. Switching her gaze back to Obi-Wan, she let her look soften and for a moment, she dropped all formalities. She had once been in charge of little Obi-Wan.

"It's good to have you back, Obi-Wan." She touched his cheek briefly before herding her charges off. She added over her shoulder, "I still remember you as the shy and reserved child with the brilliant smile and the tendency to suck on a thumb when deep in thought."

It was a trait that had morphed into a brushing of his hand against his chin.

Obi-Wan smiled after her, then turned that smile on Siri.

"Well, well, hidden talents," Siri said, raising an eyebrow. "I could imagine the young ones in awe of the 'great Obi-Wan Kenobi,' but not practically climbing all over you."

"Force suggestions work wonders," Obi-Wan grinned, gaining his feet a bit awkwardly. Siri pretended to be shocked at the suggestion. He shrugged. "It's the older ones that I sometimes have problems with. With some of them I don't know whether to treat them as younglings or young adults. Anakin as a young teenager was impossible."

"As if you were any different," Siri sniffed.

"Says who?" Obi-Wan challenged. "You? You hardly count, my dear former rival. Qui-Gon thought I was perfect. I was a perfect padawan, unlike some I remember."

"An impudent brat you mean."

"He only called me that 'cuz he liked me," Obi-Wan returned smugly. "And –was it you, Siri, who told Anakin that's what Qui-Gon called me? I don't recall him ever calling me that before others. How did you learn that one?"

"Masters talk to other masters, you know. Adi told me," Siri retorted with a wink.

"My dear girl," Obi-Wan countered. He raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm calling you that, you understand. It's what Adi called you. Your master was nice to you while mine called me a brat."

"You loved it, Kenobi, admit it."

"Publicly, never." Obi-Wan was adamant, but his eyes were dancing. Siri smiled, for no unpleasant memories stained the Force in this moment, the brief diversion from his thoughts had momentarily lifted the Jedi's spirits.

"So do you need a kiss or two to make it better? I promised your little friend, you know."

"I think it would take more than just one or two kisses." There was no hint of humor in the reply.

Only when Siri took his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers did he relax and give her a rueful grin.

"Healing me, Knight Tachi?" The question was asked in all seriousness.

"I'd do more than kiss you, Kenobi, if it would heal you." She was equally as serious.

"Don't tempt me to find out, Tachi," he warned, but he was laughing. So, too, was she, she suddenly discovered.

**

"How could we have missed something like this?" Neille groaned, rereading the information.

"He mentioned it in passing to me, twice," Cielan admitted, letting the Force wash away her doubts and regrets. "He _mentioned_ it to his padawan, to Master Mundi but he never _mentioned_ it to you or Bant and he's never _talked_ about it – if it weren't for this report…," she tapped her finger on the datapad. "Blessed Force, have we finally stumbled onto the one inconsistency that might actually get us an explanation for Obi-Wan's midis?"

The three healers were energized. They didn't have the answer, but they knew instinctively they had stumbled on the final piece of the puzzle. Alpha's report to the Council painted a more complete picture of the Jedi's actions and reactions than they'd been able to get from Obi-Wan himself.

Alpha's story was enlightening. He was able to both document what Obi-Wan had said while enshrouded in the mask, as well as add his own observations on how it affected the Jedi's behavior and thoughts. It was more than clear that the mask had some unknown properties that could twist the Force within a Force-sensitive being.

"He confessed," Bant swallowed hard, not sure what was harder to believe – that Obi-Wan had confessed such a thing to Alpha or that he actually believed those words, "he confessed to – dear Force – my poor Obi."

"The guilt and shame must be eating him alive," Neille said. 'He's got to be told this…even if we don't have the all the answers yet, we have to tell him."

"I don't see any harm in waiting a while – if we can find out what's causing his midis to function as they are and strengthen his Force connection, he'll accept and face he's been hiding from a lie much easier," Cielan said. She sighed and looked at the other two healers. "He needs to know the truth– but will he accept it as the truth without the Force?"


	62. Reaching For the Courage to Let Go

The lighthearted mood brought on by the encounter with the younglings had all but evaporated as the two Jedi drew closer to their destination. What was coming would not be easy – to speak or to hear, but both knew the words needed to be spoken and heard, that the time had come to take the final step towards healing. Obi-Wan's fingers latched onto Siri's as if seeking her strength to continue forward. She squeezed back, feeling as much as seeing his slight nod.

Even so, the Jedi's resolve was faltering, his steps slowing as they reached the entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but Obi-Wan didn't object when Siri took his arm to urge him forward, leaning ever so slightly into her support as if needing the encouragement.

She led him along the winding path and past the flowering shrubs to his favorite spot and its bench.

"Of course," he said, looking around him.

He sat down with a sigh of relief, favoring one of his legs while he absently rubbed one of his shoulders. He took a deep sniff and smiled at the faint scent of Haleothe flowers. The lines in his face smoothed out with his contentment as whisper-soft tendrils of peace enveloped him, a gentle wave of Force that Siri sent to caress his mind and spirit.

His hand stole into her open palm, his fingers gently closing around hers as she joined him on the bench. Siri softly squeezed back and hid a smile.

This was indeed something he had needed; she could almost feel the Force wrapping itself around the still wounded mind and body. In so many ways, Obi-Wan had moved past his horrific experience, but no man – no Jedi – could forget it so easily. The way that he had accepted her arm without argument, indeed, without thought or protest, was just one sign of his need to connect to others because of the damage inflicted on him.

For a man who had always tended to shy from physical contact, he seemed to seek it now. He had been reaching to her since his return, in various ways not always so obvious and some rather more than obvious. It seemed to comfort him just as much as it comforted her; Siri now understood why.

He needed caring touches to blot the memory of touches that only brought agony. He needed gentle words to erase the memories of moans and screams. He needed someone to cry tears for him; tears he would not shed for himself no matter how many flooded his heart.

Siri would offer him her hand if not her arms, her words, and her tears. She would offer anything she had for him, if it helped him heal, so she offered the Force and unconditional acceptance to one in dire need of both.

Without a word, without even opening his eyes, he raised their entwined hands to her face and brushed a tear from her eye with his thumb, smiling faintly as she brushed his palm with her lips.

This was not the Obi-Wan Kenobi that he let most people usually see, but the one that he tended to hide. Few people saw beyond the reserve; those who did, knew the true depths of caring and gentleness that so characterized him – perhaps that was what drew the younglings to him – that gentle demeanor and grave attentiveness – often buried under cynicism and humor.

Perhaps if there was anything good to come out of his captivity, it was a willingness to be more open, a willingness to connect to fellow beings and not just the Force. He had been too long without its presence and the withdrawal of something so central to his being had to have been profoundly disturbing.

"How did you know this was where I needed to be?" he said without opening his eyes.

"The Force told me." Memories of her hand on Anakin's palm, the torn petal he had not seen but she had. The sudden understanding in Anakin's face as he saw the wounded flower he had all but crushed, the gentleness with which he had let it go and his sigh of relief to see it still clinging to life.

It, like Obi-Wan, it had been worse for wear, it too, had survived and would be stronger in the end when the wounds had healed.

His hand loosened its clasp on hers and he reached up to the vine, fingers gently running over the leaves and fingering the tiny petals as if he was handling a treasure. To him it probably was. Her eyes filled with tears. She stubbornly blinked them back. If she wasn't careful, Obi-Wan would be comforting her rather than she him.

This was his healing, and while tears might have their place, she feared that her tears would only draw out his tendency to feel guilt for causing them.

"Here was where I found you after Qui-Gon's death," Siri said quietly. "You have always seemed to find peace here when you were having trouble otherwise. I must admit I sat here more than once while I mourned you, and even after I decided you had to be alive, I still found peace here as I worried about you. Only you, my friend," she smacked him lightly on the arm, smiling as his eyes flew open questioningly, "weren't here to hold my hand or put an arm around me as I did for you all those years ago."

"I'm so sorry," he drawled, "but I was otherwise occupied. I can make up for that now, if you want." His hand crept forwards and lay over hers and squeezed it.

"Did I ever thank you for sitting with me all those years ago? Force, I think the only thing that got me through the guilt, grief and uncertainty those first nights was sitting here with you. I was living someone else's life with little notice. I missed Qui-Gon at my side and wasn't sure of my adequacy to train this boy who was. I was bound to a promise, to them both, and I meant every word of that promise but - part of me was terrified, matter of fact. I couldn't admit that to anyone; only try to release the fear. I haven't been that terrified until – until recently."

His eyes suddenly darkened and his hands clasped tight to hide a sudden trembling. Siri recaptured his hand and gently stroked it, wondering at herself. For a woman who never cried, thinking of tears as a weakness, she now had this need to cry for Obi-Wan with every word and every action of his that betrayed his inner turmoil.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi terrified? I don't believe it." It wasn't that she couldn't believe it, but that he would admit it, especially to her. No matter what he had faced over the years – and some of it had been pretty horrific – he had always seemed cool and unaffected, the one steadying any other who might be faltering. It was that very steadiness that she found both endearing and infuriating; his padawan often felt the same.

Obi-Wan looked at her, then away. Siri couldn't help but think he was hesitant to reveal such perceived weakness to anyone – perhaps, even to himself. Obi-Wan probably even believed he was the man he presented to others, when every Jedi had a real self buried beneath the exterior façade. Obi-Wan would not be human, if he hadn't been afraid, even if the Jedi he was had been unafraid.

_Only you, Obi-Wan, could make me cry and wish I had more tears to shed for these are for you. _In contrast to her thoughts, her voice was light and encouraging.

"Hey, Kenobi, it's me. Let me spout Yoda-speak at you: your fears you must face so release them you can. You said there's more you haven't told me. Tell me what terrified you; don't hide it inside."

"I faced it on the way here, I once thought," he said distantly, his eyes focused far away.

His sudden withdrawal into himself, Siri understood, was an instinctive reaction, his protection against vulnerability. Obi-Wan regretted his earlier openness, more than likely, for it had opened the door to memories he didn't yet have the strength on his own to truly deal with – only the desire. If nothing else, it showed how terrible his experience had been, for this was so unlike the man she knew. Her determination to help him grew stronger than ever, for protect him she could not.

He had asked that she join her strength to his; she would not allow him back away now. He wanted to be free; he just had forgotten that to get beyond the pain he had to first accept it once more.

"But it comes back to haunt you, doesn't it?" For a long moment, Obi-Wan was still, then he slowly nodded. Siri could feel the Force - all that she fed him - being pulled around the Jedi; he was leaning heavily into it even as his fingers tightened around hers.

_Oh, Obi-Wan, tell me, my dear friend, get it out so you can get past it. I don't want to hear it, but you need to speak and so I will listen – if you could endure the actuality, I can endure the speaking of it._

"We're here because you said you wanted to face everything; that you want to stop hiding. You promised to be honest with me, Obi-Wan. Talk to me," she prompted.

For a long moment it seemed that Obi-Wan huddled within himself, locked away with memories he was afraid to face, or had forgotten how to face. His eyes finally met hers, finding something there that allowed him to find the strength to face and then release the last of the pent up feelings clearly devouring him from the inside. His words started slow, building momentum.

"As I said before, Siri, I was drugged; I was poisoned and I was forced to wear a - ," he blinked as his lips trembled before tightening. "I was made to do things, think things…watch things - that was bad enough, but then - when Alpha was – I watched. I stood there without blinking as the blood poured from him, as she inflicted bruises that turned his entire body purple and she – I – I -," he couldn't continue.

She could almost _feel_ him asking for forgiveness from both the Force and the woman before him, waiting for the scorn and dismay for being weak…for being all too human when he should have been a Jedi….

"Oh, Force, Obi-Wan," Siri breathed. Shock held her immobile – shock, anger, pain – on her friend's behalf. He still hadn't spoken everything, she could tell, he was still fighting to give voice to his deepest fears. He was trying to bare his soul to her, and she didn't know what to say.

She could tell she hurt him, for the eyes that had so bravely faced her with a truth he would rather have kept silent slowly lowered his eyes to stare at his hands and he hunched in on himself. Not shame. No, not shame – guilt? Unhappiness – fear?

"Obi-Wan?" She made her voice soft despite the hard edge it wanted to take – against the woman who would do this to Obi-Wan. Against everything he had been forced to endure; against everything he had suffered.

She waited until his eyes rose to meet hers.

"It's not your fault, Obi-Wan. Whatever you did or didn't do, no one will blame you, if that's what you fear."

He managed a ghostly smile. "I'm not worried about my reputation. I was drugged, tortured and when I was – when she," the blood drained from his face as his hands trembled. "I tried to think of you, not what she was doing to me. To remember something good, even if it was – was only dreams of what never was - in the midst of all that pain. I tried to tell myself…by struggling to live, I was doing the right thing, but now I wonder – should I have found a way to let myself die there, would that have spared Alpha all that pain?"

Siri couldn't stand the bitter pain bleeding into his voice. Without a doubt, she knew the feelings he felt were a reflection of what he mistakenly thought she felt – that she was contemptuous of him, thought him weak and incapable of self-control. She knew – all Jedi knew from training – what sentient beings could be forced to.

They were taught how to resist, but they were also taught that sometimes they could not, and it did not reflect on their strength or training – or character. In such a case, they were expected to do what they must to survive, to endure the unendurable and suffer the insufferable – the decision theirs, always_._

"Some battles you have to run away from," Siri said slowly, making sure Obi-Wan was listening. "Some battles you can't win and some battles just can't be avoided. A certain padawan taught me that lesson years ago, when I was sure that said padawan must have been a coward to run away from a fight he couldn't win alone. You taught me to see that bravery is not always standing up to bullies, but sometimes walking away to fight another time.

"This was a battle you couldn't win, but it was a battle you could not avoid, and so you did the best you could. You survived. Obi-Wan, don't you see, you survived, Alpha survived and that's what is important."

"Is it enough just to survive?" he whispered, finally. "I wondered sometimes. That mask – that abomination of the Force – sank deep. Twisting the Force, twisting everything good until I wondered if I even knew what good was any longer – Force, Siri – there were times I just wanted to die, to be free of it all, but the Force wouldn't let me die.

"I kept fighting back, fighting for something I wasn't sure of anymore, so afraid she'd succeed, that I could be – be – an abomination, too. Gods, Siri, how I tried not to hate her for what she was doing to me, to Alpha. I tried, but I – so often failed. I truly hated her, felt the anger nearly overwhelm me. I felt the darkness closing in, snuffing out the light. I'm not free, not totally, even now. I keep wondering how close I was…so close…."

His hands were trembling, drawing her eyes to them. Strong, masculine hands that could be gentle enough to soothe a dying soldier - comforting hands that could hold a young padawan fighting a nightmare - or even deadly hands holding a lightsaber that with one thrust could take a life in defense of his own or another.

These hands that now that betrayed how painful the wounds had been, to hurt so deeply that Obi-Wan struggled to remember how to connect to the Force and how to let the memories go. He knew the Force was there, waiting for him, he struggled to reach it – but he had forgotten how.

Though it half-killed her, Siri spoke with as much firmness as she could manage – she would be the strength that Obi-Wan needed right now.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, stop that right now! You are right – you are haunted because you haven't faced it, and until you do you cannot release it. You don't want the pain, face it! Face it so you can let it go. Speak it – now - because you won't be free until you do. If you weren't so damaged by everything, you'd realize that for yourself. You are still damaged, even if you think you aren't. Not even the great Obi-Wan Kenobi can remain unscarred by what you experienced."

"What's this about the 'great' Obi-Wan Kenobi? Never met the guy." She could tell he was trying desperately to find something humorous to deflect the conversation; her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Kenobi, you are no coward. So let me tell you one thing, my friend. You will take a deep breath and you will tell me everything. It's the only way for you to heal. You said it yourself: you need to stop pretending you're this being who can remain untouched by all that happened – you were never that prideful. If it were Anakin, or Bant, or I, you'd be the one urging us to release everything – well, I'm your friend, and I _will be_ the friend to you that you would be to me. Got it!"

In her vehemence, she was poking Obi-Wan in the chest, but it worked. She had broken through his final defenses, the ones that had allowed him to survive such a horrific experience yet now only served to chain him.

"You've already said you're tired of hiding; that you want to face the pain – so you can move beyond it. Don't hide from me now – or yourself."

A spark of anger flared in his eyes – and as quickly fled. Obi-Wan's eyes stared into hers for what seemed an interminable time, while Siri wondered if she had gone too far, pushed him too hard, too soon. When he finally nodded, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Tell me," she encouraged. "You asked for my help; let me help you now…please."

It was a long while before he regained enough composure to speak, his brow creasing as a sign of how difficult he was finding it. The Force had slipped from his shoulders, now, his still tenuous grasp unable to hold it long despite his need. His lips were stiff, his voice soft, and his words barely audible when he finally found the strength to begin.

"You saw my chart, didn't you? You know what she did to me, every scar she left behind and every physical blow I absorbed. None of that – none – was as bad as that mask. I'd truly rather die than face that again." He wiped a hand across his eyes, fighting with everything he had to go on, let go.

Almost unconsciously, Siri reached out to him with the Force, finding that he was just as desperately reaching out to grasp what she so freely offered. Though she knew most, if not all, of what he would speak, hearing it from his lips would be so much worse than reading the details.

"I held my tongue as long as I could – until the screams couldn't be restrained, so I screamed…and screamed…and screamed until I couldn't even do that. The screams were only sounds, though, I hadn't broken. I was strong enough… just not strong enough not to scream." Unconsciously, he reached a hand to his throat and idly massaged it, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

"That's when things – got worse. Much worse." He shuddered, and Siri reached for his hand and held onto it, squeezing gently.

"The Sith mask." He spoke as if to himself, shuddering as he spoke of it, the words so low she almost didn't hear it. He finally looked at her – they were the eyes of one who had stared at evil so long that they were numb.

"That abomination was forced over my head. It twists the Force back against the wearer. Just reaching for the Force triggered it…I couldn't stop reaching for the Force, I couldn't…I had to train myself to avoid it…so that I could try, just for a second to touch it, but a second was too long – Force, it was far too long," his breathing hitched and his eyes were clenched tight against the remembered pain.

"Then they brought Alpha in; they tortured him in front of me to get me to break but I wouldn't – I couldn't – I was forced to be a spectator at another man's torture…and that mask told me I was enjoying it, wanted to watch…push him over the edge myself and watch him drown in madness. That is when I was half convinced I was insane myself."

Sudden tears glistened on his eyelashes and Siri reached up to brush one away, letting her hand linger on Obi-Wan's damp cheek, feeling hers to be no drier.

"And now….?" She spoke as gently as she could, her throat constricting with the pain that was his, and now hers as well.

"Now, now I think I truly was."


	63. The Truth Shall Set You Free

"Insane, yes, I'm sure I must have been." He spoke, as if in a dream, hardly aware of the words he whispered in a voice raspy with remembrance.

"I remember…the dark delight – the shame and disgust as well – at the thought of crushing Alpha's throat, the snap of ligaments as my hands squeezed the life from him," a hand slowly rose as he stared at it, making Siri wonder what memory that evoked within him, "I reveled in those thoughts, Siri – I shivered in delight."

A chill shivered up Siri's spine as Obi-Wan continued to relive that memory in spilled words – a song of horror sung in monotone that allowed her to _feel_ the same horror and revulsion.

The sheer enormity of what he'd undergone was staggering.

To have someone like Obi-Wan forced to such perceived enjoyment of thoughts and feelings that were so repugnant, such anathema to one such as he, made the evil infiltrating his very mind under the mask's influence far worse than the physical abuse he had endured.

No wonder he was such a mess that he could barely face his ordeal even as he admitted that he couldn't get beyond it until he did.

Nothing – nothing had so far prepared her to deal with this depth of depravity and horror. Seeing the aftermath of Obi-Wan's nightmares, reading the healers' reports, and reading Alpha's report – even all that had not been sufficient. Siri had to reach to the Force to guide her – and her heart. Keeping her voice calm and low, shielded from horror, she spoke gently as she reached out to cup his chin in her hands, to force his eyes to meet hers.

"Listen carefully, Kenobi. Ventress badly wanted the location of the resupply points, the healing centers….she tried to twist your mind on many things, including Alpha's own ordeal, to make you speak. You stood fast and were punished for that. What do you think you should have done in that situation? Given up information so that thousands or more of other Jedi, clones, or plain innocent people should die instead?"

"No!" He pulled away from her, stood up and turned away from her, fists clenched at his side.

"No?"

"No. It was nothing but a ruse. All the pain that Alpha endured – it was for my 'benefit.'" He spit out the last word.

"It wasn't information she wanted from me. It never was. It was me. Me! Twisted and broken at her feet, a weak caricature of a Jedi to prove herself capable of twisting a Jedi, this Jedi, me. She wouldn't kill me; I wouldn't escape her so easily. She wanted me to give in to the dark side and Force help me, she came close. I was breaking, falling into Darkness. It was so easy to hate her, especially when I saw what she did to Alpha, said she would do to Anakin. Force help me, I did hate her at times."

Obi-Wan rubbed his face and let out a sigh. He was silent a moment, before adding softly, "I didn't act on my hate because I was in chains, not because of any choice on my part. Ironic, isn't it, that what partially saved me was her chains?"

Siri was thoroughly out of her depths now, but she had asked Obi-Wan to release his pent up feelings. He trusted her enough to share the truth with her.

As much as she wanted to wrap her arms around him, shush the memories that were finally finding release, she hesitated. Shutting away the horrors through deliberate ignorance had been the obstacle to his healing; she could not and would not interfere with his healing to save her from heartbreak.

She was one of the few who knew the details of his brush with the dark side while fighting the Sith on Naboo and she knew the eternal shame he felt at not initially rejecting it. He had finally forgiven himself, but it had taken a long time, only coming with his recognition that he had also been strong enough to renounce it once he'd used it.

It was a trial – _the_ _trial_ - each padawan had to conquer. The Council had acknowledged his battle; they had knighted him. Siri still wondered if that was why Obi-Wan had declined a ceremony to mark his change in status. Even the death of his master should not have kept him from a simple, private ceremony before the Council.

Now he could not see his renunciation of darkness a second time – he could only feel its tendrils entrapping him and see the darkness snapping at his heels yet another time, as if its pursuit of him was a failure within him.

"Think, Obi-Wan. What should you have done different? You would gladly die to save others, we both know that. You haven't hesitated to send troops to their deaths before this, either. What makes this so hard? That it wasn't a clean death, but a long and slow torture? Or is it that you were in terrible pain, physical and mental, and your mind was totally messed up? What's really bothering you?"

He wet his lips, first looking at her, then away – unable to deny there was more to speak and just as unable to speak it – want and need paralyzing him.

_Now_, the Force urged her.

She stood up and touched Obi-Wan on his arm to let him know she was not backing away from him. He wouldn't have to face this alone. Slowly, he turned and looked at her and she knew he saw nothing but acceptance and caring in her eyes – but was it enough to reach past his defenses?

For a long moment Obi-Wan only looked at her, and she looked steadily back at him, willing him to speak, to free himself of that final unspoken horror.

"I laughed, Siri. Alpha was in pain… and I laughed as I – I, oh Force…."

Siri was nearly speechless. Obi-Wan truly believed at that moment he was dark, for only dark would laugh at suffering. The true horror was becoming clearer with each word he spoke – that a man of such deep compassion could be persuaded he had been perverted into such malice and callous disregard for suffering.

The sheer enormity of what he'd undergone hit her, then…and she remembered the words he spoken earlier, words she had almost disregarded because she knew the truth of them - but he hadn't: "I reveled in those thoughts, Siri – I shivered in delight."

And for the moment she was silenced, for how could one find the right words to combat the ones he believed and had spoken.

*

He could barely stand to look at Siri, at the revulsion in her eyes. She had no words to comfort him, for no words could take away that stain.

_I laughed_….that was the true horror. To admit the thoughts the mask had pulled from him hurt almost worse than the thoughts themselves – to _confess_ such to the woman he loved, who had such faith in him. _I laughed…._

He could almost cry – almost, but numbness and shame kept the tears away.

Darkness had been close, uncomfortably close. He could still remember the siren call of hate and rage and how it had permeated his mind, overwhelming his resistance and how repugnance had been slowly battered into acceptance. That ugly stain remained, and he wasn't sure he would ever be free of it, for he had no memory of how he had defeated it once – or how to defeat it should it try to claim him another time.

A man, a Jedi, who could delight in the suffering of others– a man, a Jedi, who saw suffering and embraced it – a man, a Jedi who found laughter not tears in the memory of that suffering…

…_A face contorted in pain as the vibroblade continued its slow carving through skin and muscle; the audible grunts of a man trying to hold back moans as his blood ran freely, splashing the hand holding the vibroblade – and the laughter of a Jedi…._

"What I did – there. It's even worse. Some of Alpha's wounds – I was the one to put them there, laughing. I was – laughing. That mask didn't impose darkness on me; it pulled it from within me." Quiet despair underlay his words. Siri could see the pulse beating in his neck; as the tension so apparent in his posture loosened with his soft confession.

*

For a heart stopping moment Siri thought he had said – and then she realized he _had_ said it. Said it so quietly that she realized he had voiced his deepest fear, and now there was little more he could say, for it had all been revealed. She could tell how hard it had been for him to admit that, but she was everlastingly grateful he had. He had suffered overlong from a misconception. He needed and deserved the truth.

It took her a moment to clear her throat, to let her heart guide her next words – to give Obi-Wan the truth that would set him free.

"Oh, Kenobi…." Force, it was hard to sound so relieved, though in truth she was. The Force had guided her, she now knew, to stop by Adi's quarters. The Force must have guided Adi to show Siri Alpha's report to the Council, one reason she had been so silent when she had arrived to visit Obi-Wan.

The Force had chosen her to be its messenger to Obi-Wan, since it could not speak for itself until the damage to his Force connection had been repaired.

The time had come for the truth to come out – the full truth. _The truth shall set you free_ – well the truth would, finally and irrevocably, set Obi-Wan free.

How much pain Obi-Wan could have avoided if he'd been thinking clearly enough to confess everything that he had endured, but the very stubbornness that let Obi-Wan survive had only stood in the way of his recovery.

"You're wrong. You did not." The utter certainty in her voice did not penetrate his self-doubt, she saw.

"Siri!" His eyes reflected his utter shock at her words; he frowned at her. "I'm serious –I'm not the Jedi I should be, that I thought I was. I never defeated the darkness within me, don't you see, so it was there for the mask to exploit. A Jedi knows not hate – Force, how I hated her at times. A Jedi has compassion for others but – I laughed at suffering. I lose my temper over trivialities, I tried to push away those who remember the man I used to be and who tried to help me find him - I'm – I'm scared of who I am now and what's inside me. I see now why I didn't want to face the truth of what happened there."

_Cielan needs to be here – she would know what to say, and how to say it – how to reach him! _Hoping she was doing the right thing, Siri put every ounce of forceful certainty in her voice that she could dredge up. Obi-Wan should hear no doubt, for doubt she had none. She had the truth.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, stop being ridiculous and listen to yourself – to me. You said yourself you know how that mask worked, by twisting the Force against the wearer."

"I know all too well." He frowned, obviously wondering where she going with this, emotionally exhausted now that his fear was at last voiced.

He all but fell into his seat as Siri sat down first and pulled him down to join her, there under the Haleothe vines. She almost shook him as she spoke; he had to _hear_ what she had to say, not just listen.

"No, I don't think you do; though you spoke of how they work, you didn't listen to yourself. You poor man – you believe a delusion forced on you by that mask. It twisted the Force: it took what was inside you and twisted it. That damn mask created nothing, it exploited nothing; it _reversed_ impulses and thoughts, Obi-Wan. It took what was good in you and tried to make it dark – the darkness was never there to start with, existing Light was perverted into perceived Darkness. I don't know how you defeated it, but you did it by reclaiming the Light that was within you."

The disbelief, the first stirrings of hope, was shining in his eyes, the shadows beginning to lift with each word she spoke. Dismay, she could see the interplay of expression in his eyes as he absorbed the words.

"There was so much Darkness…because it had so much Light to twist…," she held his hands in hers, pouring her conviction into the slow rub of her thumbs across his palms, the utter certainty in her voice, watching as comprehension slowly bloomed.

"Evil?" His voice was a whisper.

"The opposite of good."

"Hate?"

"The opposite of love."

"Love?"

"The compassion that is your defining characteristic, Kenobi, you stubborn, hurting man."

"Darkness…," he breathed, together both completed, "the opposite of Light."

"Oh, Force…." He dropped his head into his hands in wonder, only to raise eyes suddenly clouded with doubt and a hope she had a rebuttal for this, as well. "But – but Alpha?"

"Oh, you poor, mistreated, foolish man – you never once thought to talk to Alpha afterwards or read his report? You want to know what you did – really did? You _cried_, Kenobi, when it got too much to watch, you _cried for_ him no matter what the mask tried to make you think you were doing_ to_ him. Foolish, foolish man – you've been hiding from a delusion, not the truth. Tears, Kenobi, not laughter. The tears of a Jedi."

Siri could only watch the interplay of emotions on Obi-Wan's face as he struggled to redefine his reality.

"T…tears…?"

She leaned forward and tenderly placed her hands on either side of his face, nodding in confirmation of both their words.

"Tears, you stubborn gundark. The real you – the real Obi-Wan Kenobi – was crying inside all the time, fighting, always fighting, against the dark. No matter what that horrible mask made you think or say, it made you _do_ nothing. It didn't have the power to overcome your light. You were there all along, fighting and crying against the dark – resisting with every bit of strength. A man who can cry for another when by all rights he should be screaming from his own pain – you're really some kind of Jedi, all right. An inspiration to us all."

"So I – didn't – I didn't….."

"No, Kenobi, no. What you did there, what you endured there, earned nothing but Alpha's respect. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing." Dawning realization was slow to bloom, but it was a joy to watch, to see each emotion in turn pass over his face.

Hope, understanding, and then - finally, relief.

Siri wiped away her own tears, unable to stop their slow slide down her cheeks any longer. Her heart as well as her eyes were overflowing with the joy that Obi-Wan was finally finding the freedom he so deserved.

The tears nearly spilled into sobs when he brushed one that had escaped, still reaching out to others – always reaching out to others.

"So…," he swallowed, "the –

"Yeah. You just had too much Light in you for your own good."

Much to Siri's surprise the next emotion to cross his face was – chagrin?

"Well, I sure wasn't thinking was I?" He shook his head and groaned. "And I complain that Anakin doesn't think."

Siri could smile now. No matter what difficulties might still lay ahead, this was the Obi-Wan she knew. "No, you weren't, were you?" She pressed a hand to his cheek, the other hand keeping a tight clasp on one of his.

"You were a man in a lot of pain and not yet thinking straight. Your body has all but healed, but the rest of you just hadn't caught up yet."

"I'm a Jedi, Siri." He sounded abashed as he spoke.

"And have you forgotten that you're also a man? A human being with very human feelings? You're more than a man, but no less than one, either. You're never going to be that perfect Jedi you wish you were. There is no such thing. Every single one of us is gifted with the Force and highly trained – but we are still sentient beings, fallible and imperfect.

"Of course the man you are felt dark side emotions – but you didn't give in to them. You've mastered your hate, Kenobi, what lingers you've directed against yourself. You're the very last person you should hate or fear. Let it all go, Obi-Wan, forgive yourself if you think there's need. No one else does. You've forgiven her, haven't you? Then why not yourself?"

Obi-Wan stared at her and then sighed as his shoulders slumped. "I've been a fool, haven't I?"

_Oh, Obi!_

"No. You're someone who was deeply hurt and couldn't see his way out, so turned his pain inwards rather than against someone else. You were still in shock, but now that you've recognized it, you can let it go into the Force. Release it, love, let it go."

Siri had a very human urge to hug the man; but they were also Jedi in a very public place within the Temple and he would not welcome such a public display of such personal affection. Not now, not yet, perhaps never. She settled for holding his hand as he absorbed her words, eyes closed, as the Force settled around them both and sent a whiff of Haleothe flowers wafting past them.

With a start of surprise, Siri realized she was feeling a wash of gratitude through the Force. Though outwardly quiet and serene, Obi-Wan_ was_ healing. Their bond had strengthened to the point she could now feel his emotions, not just read them through her knowledge of him. He knew it, too, why else that half smile on his face?

To her surprise, he brought their entwined hands to his cheek where he rested his head against it. Accepting her gesture, and expanding on it.

In this moment, he had the Force and yet he still reached to her.

After a few moments of blissful peace, he opened his eyes and gently cupped her face in two strong hands, a smile playing around his lips. His eyes searched hers, for what she wasn't sure, but apparently found what he sought. When he leaned forward and kissed her – after a quick glance around to be sure no one was within sight – she met his kiss with her own. This kiss, however gentle it started, deepened into something far more akin to passion than affection, though with a little laugh Obi-Wan broke it off, far too soon for her liking. She would have liked to see just far it would have gone.

"I don't deserve a friend like you," he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb as they pulled apart, his eyes crinkling with a too long absent humor.

"Probably not." She leaned against his shoulder and smiled when his head dropped against hers as the Force swirled around them both, full of mutual affection now, not pain.

Nothing was beyond reach now, for they would face it – together.


	64. What Kisses Hath Wrought

**Note**: Yes, we are just about to the end of this story, for I decided to split the rest off by itself as the tone changes to a bit more humorous and a lot more - albeit slowly building - romance; I'm going to go more AU and try to tighten up my storytelling. I'll put that story up with a link in the final chapter of this one.

* * *

Anakin Skywalker liked to think that few things surprised him. He found out just how wrong he was when he rounded a corner and came upon the unexpected sight of his master and Siri together on a bench. Find the two sitting together was not a common sight, but it was not unheard of and was by itself unworthy of remark. No, what was so surprising about it was the way they sat so close together, with Obi-Wan leaning into Siri's shoulder and her head resting upon his.

At first he thought they were holding hands as well, but it was merely Siri's hand atop one of his master's, even if her fingers were laced through his, the clasped hands lying loosely in her lap. Her other arm was supporting the Jedi, the fingers gently combing through his hair.

It was a perfectly innocent and yet quietly intimate scene. Anakin raised an eyebrow in open question of what he might have interrupted, a soft cough indicating his presence.

He knew Siri was aware he was there, but she merely whispered a short phrase into his master's ear. At the same time she patted his hand, a nearly unconscious gesture as far as he could tell.

The young man almost smiled, then nearly frowned, not sure what to think as the Jedi turned her attention to him as if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy to be so openly affectionate with another person – another Jedi – his master here in public.

Had that kiss he'd dared Siri to give Obi-Wan led to – well – _this_, something he had never expected of his straight arrow and oh-so-perfect a master when it came to following the Code? It was one thing for he himself to violate the Code – an archaic and outmoded rulebook in his not-so-humble opinion – but Obi-Wan wouldn't, would he? Anakin relied on his master to be the example he didn't live up to.

He had never quite realized until now how much he relied on that steadiness, that certainty of purpose and steadfastness to duty. It was the stable foundation he could rely on regardless of the shifting sands he normally walked, blown hither and yon by the currents of the Force and the pull of what he had yet to understand within him. The possibility of his losing that was strangely unsettling.

He wet his lips and took a deep breath. _Ah, don't be stupid, don't make something out of a little closeness_, he admonished himself, wishing at the same time his stomach would settle down.

Another thought intruded, one even less comfortable to contemplate as he suddenly realized Obi-Wan had not stirred or acknowledged his presence in any manner.

_Obi-Wan hadn't had another near emotional breakdown had he?_ The sight of his ever calm, ever serene master so silently crying in Siri's arms not so many days before had just about broken his heart; the urge to comfort and stop the tears nearly overwhelming.

Could some terrible thing, some demon-spawned horror have surfaced to drive his master at this time and place to again seek and find comfort in the arms of a friend – or had Siri sought him out, instead, drawn by the Force?

After all the man had endured, his master now seemed to grasp onto any comfort offered him. Anakin well understood the psychology of this. He would not begrudge the man any comfort he sought, even if he sought it from other than his own padawan, no matter how much he wished he had been the one his master would turn to.

"Shh, Anakin, he's asleep," Siri whispered, turning her head to face him. The tenderness he'd thought he had espied in her eyes, he decided on second thought, was merely concern for Obi-Wan and now slight amusement at Anakin's unspoken question.

His master was _asleep_? Not seeking comfort then, but asleep? Puzzled irritation pushed past the prior emotions –here he was concerned about Obi-Wan and the man was merely _sleeping_? He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. Obviously he was missing something – his eyes raked the Jedi's face, sought out his Force presence for an explanation of just why he would be asleep on a bench of all places, against another Jedi's shoulder.

"Finally speaking of the horrors of what he went through took a terrible toll on him and he's absolutely worn out," Siri said, recognizing his confusion. She dropped a gentle kiss on the top of the Jedi's head, took a deep breath, and smiled. "Let him rest."

"You got him to speak – everything? Oh, thank the Force," the padawan breathed as Siri's words sunk in. Obi-Wan had been denying, or hiding, the extent of his pain from everyone, even from himself ever since his return and in some ways that had been the worst part to witness, for the Jedi was not one to share his internal pain. He was not, however, one to hide from himself.

He blinked back the sudden tears that battled the joy in his heart.

With a nod of understanding, relief, and a bit of jealousy that he did his best to quench, Anakin kneeled before the two, his fingers gently reaching out to brush Obi-Wan's face, needing his own proof through the Force that his master was not ill or distraught. He sat back, startled, at the soft mumble his fingers prompted.

"I'm not asleep, Padawan, just resting. Siri insisted I use her shoulder as a pillow." His voice was slightly slurred and heavy with exhaustion.

"Are you sure that's my master?" Anakin asked Siri, a crooked grin crossing his face. He had never known his master to so openly lean on another, physically or emotionally – and continue to do so in the presence of others. Obi-Wan was not known for physical gestures of affection – oh, a hand on the shoulder, a playful tweak of a braid, a rare and occasional hug – but nothing like this, especially not in a public space.

"If you're my padawan, I'm your master." Obi-Wan still hadn't moved or opened his eyes. "Don't stare."

The admonishment carried no sting, only amused affection; it prompted the same in response.

"Oh. Well then, since I'm not about to give you up, my master, I guess you are who I think you are."

A slight chuckle greeted this, warming the padawan's heart even more. Something had loosened within the Jedi, some hidden knot of closely guarded pain that had sullied what little Force presence he had. Even the barely visible lines of tension that had never been obviated, even while the man had been under sedation, had smoothed out. This was the Obi-Wan that was most dear to him: relaxed and in a teasing mood.

Anakin tilted his head at Obi-Wan, silently asking Siri for reassurance that this relatively lighthearted behavior was not just an aberration, that his master wouldn't suffer an emotional backlash for having now let free his demons. Siri seemed to understand, for she brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, an affirmation that he had indeed seen earlier the remnants of tears glistening on her lashes.

"He is really going to be okay. He let it go, Anakin, faced what he thought was the truth only to find it was a deception forced upon him – and released the guilt that plagued him.

Truly, your master is going to be just fine." The words were whispered for Siri was trying not to rouse Obi-Wan any more than they'd already done.

"Thank the Force for that," Anakin breathed as Obi-Wan stirred anyway, finally opened an eye and muttered, "Ah, yes; you are my padawan, indeed." He smiled in drowsy welcome – a smile that reached his eyes, a smile so long missing that it brought a pang to the padawan's heart. The young Jedi sat back on his heels and put his hands on the older man's knees, gazing intently at him until his own smile broke over his face.

"Master, I haven't seen you looking so at peace for so long…so long."

"Because, my padawan, I haven't been." Obi-Wan's hand rose and patted the young man's shoulder, before pulling him forward into a one-arm hug that surprised both of them as his other arm arose and encircled Siri's shoulder, bringing the three of them together in a joint hug. "I am now, though, thanks to Siri, for I have now confessed all my sins, real or perceived."

"Kenobi! Don't even joke about sins – you had none to confess." The glare Siri threw at Obi-Wan would have cowed lesser men, but it didn't faze his master in the slightest.

Obi-Wan smiled, albeit sadly, and admitted, "But I thought I had until you set me straight. Allow me to at least joke about it."

The two exchanged a long look, a silent battle of wills, until Siri capitulated gracefully with a softly voiced, "If you must; I understand."

Anakin didn't, but apparently his master and Siri did. Knowing Obi-Wan as well as he did, he was sure it had something to do with released pain that was still a little too close to the surface. Making a joke of something painful was his master's way of disarming that pain and taking the power to hurt away – and they all knew that. Why else would Siri's manner have so softened, so quickly?

The Jedi slowly rose to his feet and sighed, conceding at least one point to her. "Siri is right, however; I am worn out. I'm not too proud to let you escort me back to our quarters, Padawan. Siri, I won't promise I won't fall asleep on you if you join us for a cup of tea, if you'd like to join us?"

Despite his very real exhaustion, Obi-Wan's head was high and his back straight, for the weight of his burden had been lifted at last. Whether his master knew it or not, the Force was again dancing in his presence.

Anakin was close to doing the same.

**

Despite Obi-Wan's groans of protest that he was a grown man, Anakin made sure his master removed his footwear and lay down for a while as soon as they got to their quarters.

"Save your energy for disciplining me," he said brightly, a small smile playing over his lips. Oh, it felt good to be teasing Obi-Wan once more, treating him as he usually did rather than this wounded being he had tried to be so careful around.

"What have you done now, Padawan?" Obi-Wan didn't even bother to open his eyes, yawning instead.

"Nothing, but I'm sure I will."

"Ah, I'm sure you will, too." Obi-Wan managed a cheeky grin at his padawan, who did his best to look affronted. With his usual logic, he added, "You were the one to bring it up; live with the consequences."

Consequences! All humor fled at the reminder. Obi-Wan was now living with the consequences of actions he wasn't even responsible for. Ventress had chosen her own consequences by her actions; Anakin would make sure of that.

He realized his master was looking at him with an unsettled look as if picking up on his emotions. Perhaps he had caught the flash of anger he was trying to banish, because right now all he wanted to hold onto was his relief. Obi-Wan was going to be okay, he really was – but he should always have been; he should not have lost what he had now regained.

"Padawan, no anger, no anger." Obi-Wan settled against his pillow with a tired sigh as Anakin draped the coverlet over his master. His hand, no longer crippled and weak as it had once been, came up to lay over Anakin's; once again, two hands joined, giving and receiving strength. "Anger and hate…brought us here. No anger. Talk to Siri, okay?"

Wordlessly, Anakin nodded. With a pat on Obi-Wan's shoulder, the padawan slipped from his master's side back to the common room.

He did want to talk to Siri, but not about the simmering anger within him and he wasn't sure how best to broach the subject. He felt awkward, for he wanted to ask why Obi-Wan had confided in Siri and not his padawan, yet he knew how petty and jealous such a request would seem.

It was; he had to admit. He would rather be petty and jealous – and Obi-Wan healing – than otherwise, but he couldn't help the way he felt. He could and would hide his feelings until he could overcome them, for he was determined not to dwell on himself, but on Obi-Wan. It was the right thing to do – the mature thing, and it would be honoring his master's example, as well.

"I'm glad you got him to open up," he said simply, dropping into a seat across from Siri. "Yeah, I admit I wish it had been me, and I'm sorry for that, but I am happy someone reached him. Truly."

"Oh, Anakin." Siri shook her head as if not knowing how to respond; then sat forward. Grief and pain stained the Force before dispersing, a trick Obi-Wan had so mastered that Anakin was only now aware of the multitude of times he had felt such without true recognition that what he had felt was his master's quick release of such emotional turmoil. Siri was less practiced and so less quick; the only reason he had been able to make the connection.

The aftermath of Jabiim, it seemed, was a greater understanding of his master. It tantalized him, warmed him, yet warned him – should Obi-Wan gain a greater depth of understanding of Anakin, how would he react to all his padawan's transgressions as a Jedi?

The condemnation he so feared was fast transforming into a fear of disappointing the man he now knew would stand beside him. He could fight condemnation with indignation and anger, but with what did one fight one's mentor's disappointment? Silence, secrecy and evasion would have to remain his companions for the time being.

"He's been too worried about you, about the effect his truth would have on you, even more than he feared the rest of us knowing. What he went through – it was worse, far worse than we even imagined. I wish I didn't know," and for a moment Siri's eyes looked almost as haunted as Obi-Wan's once had, "but because I did, I was able to reassure him that the good man he is was not lost."

His jaw must have dropped as far as his stomach; Anakin stared at Siri in utter confusion.

"Well of course he's a good man…don't tell me after everything that was done to him he doubted _that_?"

Over the years Anakin had doubted many things: Obi-Wan's affection, his desire to train him, even his ability to feel more than fleeting happiness or sorrow. He had never doubted Obi-Wan's innate goodness.

That his master could entertain such doubts…such terrible self-doubt and not be able to speak of it – to his padawan, to his good friend, perhaps even to Master Yoda was beyond Anakin's ability to comprehend.

The shock in his eyes mirrored the sadness in Siri's.

"Oh, Anakin, he did doubt. The things he was forced to live through, the thoughts imposed on him – there were times he doubted his own sanity. There were times he just wanted to die. He came close to breaking, Anakin – any man, any Jedi would. He held out long enough to come back, but not all of him came back at first – part of him was buried too deep, to survive, and without that part he couldn't be whole again."

"What part was that?"

Siri wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. She leaned forward and took Anakin's hand in hers, lips trembling. "The part that believed in himself. The part that by being missing allowed him to doubt that he was the man he had always striven to be, the Jedi as well. The part that didn't see his resistance - only saw the darkness trying to engulf him."

"But it didn't – it couldn't, he should know that." The very thought had Anakin sputtering in outrage.

"Oh, Padawan, the darkness touched him – it was imposed on him, but it reached into him. He experienced it even if he fought against it, and that's what made his recovery so difficult. He was – ashamed – of being weak. Don't ask me much more – it's not for me to speak, just know his pain was far greater than we could possibly imagine. No wonder he was hiding from the truth - only it was a lie he was hiding from. Your master is - quite a remarkable man to survive that – how he did, I'll never know."

"Hey, now, Obi-Wan's back and going to be fine, you said so yourself." What Ventress had done to his master was really bad if a seasoned knight could barely talk about it. He rubbed Siri's hand between his own, wishing he could do or say something. Apparently what he was doing was enough, for Siri managed a grin.

"Like master, like padawan," she said softly. "I kept thinking he was going to comfort me when all I wanted to do was comfort him. Thanks, Anakin."

"Hey, you helped my master, and I'm truly grateful, even if I am a bit jealous. Thank you for being such a good friend – to us both. Tell me what I can do to help him now."

"I see why he's so fond of you." Siri grinned as Anakin ducked his head shyly. "If nothing else, Anakin, just keep reassuring him that he is still a good man. That's really all he needs now, the truth and the Force. He so doubted his goodness, the poor man."

And if Obi-Wan doubted he was a good man – a good Jedi – he would doubt his ability to be a good role model and mentor to his padawan – that good man he doubted he was would not want to destroy his padawan's belief in his master. Anakin began to understand, a little, just why Obi-Wan held his pain separate – the fear he had to have had of corrupting his padawan, his strong desire to protect him until he purged the pain from his soul.

That desire to protect ran strong in Obi-Wan. Perhaps that what was behind his master's strong and steady – sometimes-overprotective – guidance.

With a nod, Anakin glanced towards the room where Obi-Wan was hopefully sleeping. He probed the bond and smiled faintly, yes, his master was asleep and sleeping soundly for once. Despite that knowledge, he was compelled to move to the doorway where he could confirm that with his eyes as well as the Force.

The lump in Anakin's throat nearly choked him at the sight that greeted him. Obi-Wan felt safe at last, safe enough to sleep comfortably loose limbed, not huddled in a tight ball as if to protect himself from Force-knew-what-horrors. Siri moved to his side, and after a moment whispered, "What's wrong?"

"He hasn't slept like that since - since…." Anakin cleared his throat, unable to continue.

After a few minutes, he turned and grinned at Siri. "Yes, he's really going to be all right. Thank the Force. I can hardly wait for his first sour comment or reprimand." The look she gave him made it clear he was going to be reminded of that if and when he complained; he returned a look of injurious innocence upon the knight.

Gradually replacing the euphoria, though, was the again-surfacing realization that all the pain Obi-Wan had suffered, all the doubts and all the fears, the nightmares and the tears, came courtesy of just one woman – Ventress, Asajj Ventress.

Despite Obi-Wan's earlier request, he could not this time swallow the rising anger and pain – anger that the ever-imperturbable Jedi master had been driven to doubt he was a good and decent man because of the evil perpetrated upon him and the pain no one should have to endure . To swallow it was to accept it, and Anakin Skywalker would not accept what was done to his master. He could not, because what Ventress had done to Obi-Wan could be done to another. Evil could not be allowed to flourish.

His very duty – to his master, to the Force, and to justice itself demanded retribution.

_I swear, Master, Ventress shall not go unpunished, upon my word as a Jedi. Soon, Master, soon._

So promised the padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi.


	65. Freed by the Light of Truth

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood tall and straight, his back to the door.

Any other place, any other time, it would not have been remarkable. This time, this place, it was. Not so long ago, his very existence had been in doubt; somewhat more recently it was his health that had been in question.

Until yesterday.

There could be no more doubts. Hers had fled the day before, only to sneak up during the long hours of the night, but seeing him standing there in the light of day – this new day – they had simply ceased to exist, evaporated into the Force.

Shadows still remained, but even they were fast dissolving in the light of truth, to leave behind only faint traces of the residual horror that had so plagued the Jedi.

Instead, a feeling of peace and acceptance greeted Siri as soon as she stepped into Cielan's office, so strong it nearly took her breath away. Obi-Wan's revelations had freed him. It was nothing tangible, yet very real –his faint presence in the Force seemed washed clean of the faint murkiness that had so clouded it, the veils of doubt torn asunder to let the light of his presence shine unhindered.

After all the pain and the doubts, the terrors and the fears, Obi-Wan was free. He might never be free of the memories, but they no longer had the power to hold him hostage.

She just stood there, basking in normalcy, smiling a little as the Force hummed in the room. All those there felt it – whatever they might know, or not – they felt it.

Perhaps it was the way they were clustered around Obi-Wan: Cielan, Neille and Yoda. Siri could feel their pleasure and happiness quietly radiating through the Force.

Perhaps it was the way he stood facing them, the lines of his body reflecting the quiet grace he could display even when still.

She knew she wasn't the only one who had found it hard, so terribly hard, to watch a Jedi with Obi-Wan's strength struggle so hard or suffer all the attendant emotional conflict. His friends, padawan and healers, they had all wanted to help him recover, each and every one of them, yet all knew that his recovery could not be forced upon him. Finding a balance between helping and hindering had been fraught with treacherous currents to navigate.

Now he had found his strength and his healing, and the healers and Yoda knew it; perhaps Obi-Wan had already spoken some of what had been hidden for too long. Even now Neille was clapping him on the back, Bant was hugging him and Cielan was standing by with a pleased smile as Yoda beamed. It was nearly overwhelming to observe; the Jedi apparently found it just as overwhelming to be in the middle of it.

Obi-Wan merely threw up his hands and retreated, a step or two, a bit overcome.

"Why Master Kenobi, there is no fear," Siri intoned solemnly, in a deep voice very unlike her own – before the mock severity turned to giggles. "Fears leads to - looking a fool when it's fear of your friends and colleagues."

He turned in surprise, grinned, and grumbled good-naturedly, "Well, when they all but squeeze you to pieces…. " In two long strides he was at her side, his eyes crinkling at her in the way she found irresistible.

To Siri's utter astonishment, Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he told those gathered that it was thanks to Siri that he had found the strength and will to move forward.

"Thank you," he said as he turned his gaze back to her and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. Two simple little words, yet such deep emotion backed them that Siri could only ever so gently elbow him in the ribs with an affectionate, "You gundark." Without missing a beat, he turned back to face the others, not relinquishing her shoulder, and thanked them for their support as well.

"Your weakness you have found, Obi-Wan," Yoda said, nodding in approval and poking his gimer stick at the Jedi's ankle.

"And found my strength in turn." The Jedi did not flinch, but a corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Yoda turned complacent eyes towards Siri, and she could almost swear she saw him wink at her before he spoke in quiet amusement. "Indeed, for lean on her you still do."

Obi-Wan's arm immediately dropped to his side, though his eyes twinkled. "I will try to stand on my own, Master."

The Jedi was clearly teasing the elder and they both knew it, for at the word "try," Yoda merely grunted, letting it pass without comment. There was no doubt in Siri's mind, then. Yoda had winked at her and now had just done so again – and she knew that Obi-Wan saw it this time, too.

"Worried once I was for you, Obi-Wan," he observed with a slow blink of an eye. "Ready are you now to speak to the healers what you have spoken to Siri? Help you take those final steps they will but know all they must to help you find the Force."

The gentle words were not meant as a reproof, but Obi-Wan bowed his head, a slight wash of red staining his face. Yoda was perfectly correct, yet the man had been so wounded that physical healing and time had been necessary to give him the strength to even get to this point. Not until his revelations had Siri understood the depth of those wounds or the scars they had left on his soul, which made it so breathtaking to now see the spring in his step and the sparkle in his eyes.

"I am, but…," he again reddened slightly as he looked at Yoda, then Siri in turn. The sparkle faded a bit, muted with the knowledge of what he must once more speak, but didn't disappear.

"I'd like you both here; I'll understand if you'd rather not. Siri,' his eyes searched hers, concern and worry in their depths that didn't diminish even with her nod, "I think it would help you. Master Yoda," he turned to the diminutive Jedi, "I'd like you to hear it directly from me – someone on the Council needs to know and I would prefer it be you."

Yoda grunted and Obi-Wan nodded, before turning his attention back to Siri. "Siri, I've told them because of you I am ready to put this behind me. The scars are still there, I know, but…."

… _but he knows it won't be easy_, Siri mentally filled in the unspoken words.

In Obi-Wan's eyes she saw only strength and determination, tinged with a hint of unease. He knew how hard it had been for her to listen the day before, probably even knew how she had slept on his couch wanting, needing to stay near him – how more than once she had stood in his doorway reassuring herself that he indeed slept peacefully before her – before slipping back to her own room in the early hours to catch a few hours of exhausted sleep.

"Of course, Kenobi." _I can listen to it again, for Obi-Wan's sake! _She put her finger on his lips before he could ask if she was sure. "Don't worry so much – really, Kenobi."

"I do what I must." His smile was a bit strained, his concern for her real even as he tried to tease her. He winced theatrically as Siri lightly smacked him on the arm.

"Thank you for helping Obi, Siri," Bant said; such delight in her eyes that Siri just had to smile, despite knowing the horrors that she would soon hear once more. The gentle healer would be devastated by what Obi-Wan would reveal. "This morning he walks in with this sheepish expression and says, 'I've been hiding something from you – as well as myself. I'm ready to talk about it.' I knew then our Obi-Wan was just about back."

Bant suddenly frowned as if suddenly aware that the next step would be far from pleasant. Her lips pressed together, and Siri realized the healer had a spine of durasteel that would serve her well over the next time period.

Cielan added, "Knight Tachi, your support and friendship have greatly accelerated Obi-Wan's recovery in my opinion; you have accomplished what would have taken the two of us longer to achieve."

Now it was Siri who felt overwhelmed. She had done little, except what Obi-Wan asked – she had lent her strength and her ear, but he had been the one who had had to go into those memories and face them.

"I needed you," the Jedi said, facing her squarely, his eyes apologetic as if he shouldn't have needed her, shouldn't have had to burden another with the knowledge of his pain in order to get beyond it. "I was hesitant to face those memories, hesitant to speak when I did, and hesitant…."

"Hesitant of my reaction, Obi-Wan?" Siri finished for him, her gaze soft even if her voice came out a bit sharper than she wished. "Or making them real by speaking? Scared to be vulnerable and needing someone?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, clearly unable to articulate a response. He squawked as she tugged him into a seat with a sudden yank, surprise and shock in his face at her triumphant grin.

"Idiot!" She smiled at him, for she did understand. How could he fully trust anyone if he couldn't trust himself? He had chosen to trust her.

"Idiot Obi-Wan is not. Stubborn he is," Yoda pronounced sternly. The others sat as he threw an exasperated but fond glare at the Jedi. He suddenly chuckled, "Like his master he is – but stubborn is what saved you, eh, young one? Stubborn can be good under the right circumstances. Glad I am that stubborn you are."

"Not I," Cielan interjected. "Stubborn made my job much harder."

Padawan Kenobi might have rolled his eyes; Master Kenobi only sighed and offered a soft-voiced apology.

The light-hearted teasing was as much from relief as it was preparing for the tale that lay ahead. Cielan clearly thought that Obi-Wan was going to find this more difficult than he expected.

Cielan summarized what Siri already knew. With Yoda, it was harder to tell, though he grunted every now and then as if he knew much of what was said already. Knowing the fond affection and deep respect Obi-Wan had for the diminutive master, a regard returned in equal measure, she wouldn't be surprised if Yoda knew a great deal.

It wasn't until Obi-Wan slowly began to recite his experience with the Sith mask that Yoda's ears curled back and his attention grew even more focused. The healers had much the same reaction, while Siri's fingers tightened at having to hear this all over again.

At one point, Obi-Wan's gaze met hers and he faltered. Stilling her fingers, she managed an encouraging smile. Hearing all this a second time _was_ easier, just as speaking it seemed a bit easier for Obi-Wan as well, though he was paling as he spoke.

Talking about the mask was not – and never would be – easy for Obi-Wan. Such trauma left permanent scars; scars that healed but scars that never quite disappeared. It took Yoda and Siri at his side, lending their emotional and physical support, for the Jedi to describe the physical and mental sensations of the mask to the healers.

_I stared evil in the face – and the face was mine_ – Siri was sure he barely noticed her arm wrapping around his shoulders as he leaned forward, head in his hands, shaking, suddenly shaking. She pulled him close to her side as he fought to continue; silently rubbing his arm and her own eyes closed against the horrors that he spoke of once more.

If either Cielan or Neille questioned the embrace, neither one reacted as if it were the most common of sights. With Yoda's small hand resting on one forearm as well, Siri could feel Obi-Wan fight past his constricted throat by drawing on the offered Force strength of those who surrounded him.

"Easier it is with the support of others," Yoda grunted, nodding gently. "This lesson you have finally learned, eh?"

_Will he still reach out to others – _to me_ – once he's fully beyond all this? _It was a selfish thought, she knew, this wish that his new-found need for closeness would not evaporate with his healing, but the thought of losing this made her blink back an unexpected tear.

She looked down as she felt her fingers lightly squeezed, as if the Jedi sensed her emotions. His hand was warm and gentle; his touch both a promise and assurance that he had changed for the better in some ways, changed by what was done to him and changed by the help he had accepted from others.

Having already confessed all to Siri, once Obi-Wan got beyond the initial words he seemed to find it easier to speak in coherent sentences, only broken by the occasional shudder and silences. It made Siri realize it had been as much fear of judgment, of revealing vulnerability, which had initially impeded his story.

The eyes of all settled into deep compassion, though none interrupted the Jedi's flow of words. Slow tears dripped from Bant's silver eyes, for the tenderhearted healer was easily the most emotionally expressive of them all; her lips were tightly pressed together indicating deep concentration on the words.

No dramatic pause or triumphal chorus marked the end of his story. It ended simply, with Obi-Wan rubbing his eyes and slumping back in his seat as Siri's arm tightened around him.

For a moment no one spoke. What words, really, were appropriate?

The silence was finally broken, by Obi-Wan himself. He straightened up and looked at each in turn, ending with Siri. He gazed at her, savoring the moment to come. He had found the words that the others could not. Two words, deceptively simple yet with a wealth of meaning, punctuated by a smile.

"I'm free."

The worst was behind him – and the future beckoned.

* * *

Sequel is here: .net/secure/story/story_?storyid=4801119/1/ Truths of the Heart. I wanted to reign in this story a bit, continue the romance, have the freedom to go further AU and bring in more humor. The change in tone seemed jarring unless split off, and so far I've managed somewhat to pull back on my tendency to overindulge in pretty sounding phrases.


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